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IT    WAS    THE    CHRISTMAS    SEASON,   AND    HE   WAS  AT    LAST    LEARNING 
THE    SECRET    OF    ITS    HOLD    ON    HUMAN    HEARTS    AND    SYMPATHIES 


I 

rj 


HOW 
IT  HAPPENED 


BY 


KATE  LANGLEY   BOSHER 


AUTHOR  OF 

'MARY  GARY"  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED 


H 

I 

t1 


HARPER   &   BROTHERS    PUBLISHERS 

NEW    YORK    AND     LONDON 

MCMXI V 


BOOKS  BY 
KATE   LANGLEY   BOSHER 

HOW  IT  HAPPENED 

THE  HOUSE  OF  HAPPINESS 

MARY  GARY 

MISS  GIBBIE  GAULT 

THE  MAN  IN  LONELY  LAND 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK 


TO 

MY    FAITHFUL    FRIEND 
ARIADNE    ELIZABETH   VAUGHAN    LATHAM 


2228466 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

IT  WAS  THE  CHRISTMAS  SEASON,  AND  HE  WAS 
AT  LAST  LEARNING  THE  SECRET  OF  ITS  HOLD 
ON  HUMAN  HEARTS  AND  SYMPATHIES  .  .  Frontispiece 

"WHICH  Do  You  LIKE  BEST,  SARDINES  WITH 
LEMON  ON  'EM,  OR  TOASTED  CHEESE  ON 

TOAST?" Facing  p.    56 

"You  WOULD  NOT  LET  ME  THANK  You  THIS 

MORNING.  MAY  I  THANK  You  Now  FOR — "      "       138 


HOW    IT    HAPPENED 


H 


CHAPTER  I 

EAD  on  the  side  and  chin  uptilted, 
she  held  it  at  arm's-length,  turning  it 
now  in  one  direction,  now  in  another, 
then  with  deliberation  she  laid  it  on 
the  floor. 

' '  I  have  wanted  to  do  it  ever  since 
you  were  sent  me;  now  I  am  going  to." 

Hands  on  hips,  she  looked  down  on  the  high- 
crown,  narrow-brim  hat  of  stiff  gray  felt  which 
was  at  her  feet,  and  nodded  at  it  with  firmness 
and  decision.  "It's  going  to  be  my  Christmas 
present  to  myself — getting  rid  of  you.  Couldn't 
anything  give  me  as  much  pleasure  as  smashing 
you  is  going  to  give.  Good-by — " 

Raising  her  right  foot,  Carmencita  held  it 
poised  for  a  half-moment  over  the  hated  hat, 


HOW    IT    HAPPENED 

then  with  long-restrained  energy  she  brought 
it  down  on  the  steeple-crown  and  crushed  it 
into  shapelessness.  "I  wish  she  could  see  you 
now."  Another  vigorous  punch  was  given,  then 
with  a  swift  movement  the  battered  bunch  of 
dull  grayness,  with  its  yellow  bird  and  broken 
buckle  of  tarnished  steel,  was  sent  in  the  air,  and 
as  it  landed  across  the  room  the  child  laughed 
gaily,  ran  toward  it,  and  with  the  tip  of  her  toes 
tossed  it  here  and  there.  Sending  it  now  up  to 
the  ceiling,  now  toward  the  mantel,  now  kicking 
it  over  the  table,  and  now  to  the  top  of  the 
window,  she  danced  round  and  round  the  room, 
laughing  breathlessly.  Presently  she  stooped, 
picked  it  up,  stuck  it  on  her  head,  and,  going  to 
the  stove,  opened  its  top,  and  with  a  shake  of 
her  curls  dropped  the  once  haughty  and  now 
humbled  head-gear  in  the  fire  and  watched  it 
burn  with  joyous  satisfaction. 

"The  first  time  she  wore  it  we  called  her 
Coachman  Cattie,  it  was  so  stiff  and  high  and 
hideous,  and  nobody  but  a  person  like  her  would 
ever  have  bought  it.  I  never  thought  it  would 
some  day  come  to  me.  Some  missioners  are 
nice,  some  very  nice,  but  some — " 

With  emphasis  the  lid  of  the  stove  was  put 
back,  and,  going  to  the  table  in  the  middle  of  the 


HOW    IT    HAPPENED 

room,  Carmencita  picked  up  the  contents  of  the 
little  work-basket,  which  had  been  knocked 
over  in  her  rushing  round,  and  put  them  slowly 
in  place.  "Some  missioners  seem  to  think  be 
cause  you're  poor  everything  God  put  in  other 
people's  hearts  and  minds  and  bodies  and  souls 
He  left  out  of  you.  Of  course,  if  you  haven't  a 
hat  you  ought  to  be  thankful  for  any  kind." 
The  words  came  soberly,  and  the  tiniest  bit  of  a 
quiver  twisted  the  lips  of  the  protesting  mouth. 
"You  oughtn't  to  know  whether  it  is  pretty  or 
ugly  or  becoming  or —  You  ought  just  to  be 
thankful  and  humble,  and  I'm  not  either.  I 
don't  like  thankful,  humble  people;  I'm  afraid 
of  them." 

Leaving  the  table  where  for  a  minute  she  had 
jumbled  needles  and  thread  and  scissors  and 
buttons  in  the  broken  basket,  she  walked  slowly 
over  to  the  tiny  mirror  hung  above  a  chest  of 
drawers,  and  on  tiptoes  nodded  at  the  reflection 
before  her — nodded  and  spoke  to  it. 

"You're  a  sinner,  all  right,  Carmencita  Bell, 
and  there's  no  natural  goodness  in  you.  You 
hate  hideousness,  and  poorness,  and  other 
people's  cast-offs,  and  emptiness  in  your  stom 
ach,  and  living  on  the  top  floor  with  crying 
babies  and  a  drunken  father  underneath,  and 

3 


HOW   IT    HAPPENED 

counting  every  stick  of  wood  before  you  use  it. 
And  you  get  furious  at  times  because  your 
father  is  blind  and  people  have  forgotten  about 
his  beautiful  music,  and  you  want  chicken  and 
cake  when  you  haven't  even  enough  bacon  and 
bread.  You're  a  sinner,  all  right.  If  you  were 
in  a  class  of  them  you  would  be  at  the  head. 
It's  the  only  thing  you'd  ever  be  at  the  head  of. 
You  know  you're  poverty-poor,  and  still  you're 
always  fighting  inside,  always  making  out  that 
it  is  just  for  a  little  while.  Why  don't  you — " 

The  words  died  on  her  lips,  and  suddenly  the 
clear  blue  eyes,  made  for  love  and  laughter  and 
eager  for  all  that  is  lovely  in  life,  dimmed  with 
hot  tears,  and  with  a  half-sob  she  turned  and 
threw  herself  face  downward  on  the  rug-covered 
cot  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  room. 

' '  O  God,  please  don't  let  Father  know !"  The 
words  came  in  tones  that  were  terrified.  ' '  Please 
don't  ever  let  him  know!  I  wasn't  born  good, 
and  I  hate  bad  smells,  and  dirty  things,  and 
ugly  clothes,  and  not  enough  to  eat,  but  until 
I  am  big  enough  to  go  to  work  please,  please  help 
me  to  keep  Father  from  knowing !  Please  help 
me!" 

With  a  twisting  movement  the  child  curled 
herself  into  a  little  ball,  and  for  a  moment 

4 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

tempestuous  sobbing  broke  the  stillness  of  the 
room,  notwithstanding  the  knuckles  of  two  little 
red  hands  which  were  pressed  to  the  large  sweet 
mouth.  Presently  she  lifted  the  hem  of  her 
skirt  and  wiped  her  eyes,  then  she  got  up. 

"I  wish  I  could  cry  as  much  as  I  want  to.  I 
never  have  had  a  place  convenient  to  do  it  all 
by  myself,  and  there's  never  time,  but  it  gets 
the  choked  things  out  and  makes  you  feel  much 
better.  I  don't  often  want  to,  just  sometimes, 
like  before  Christmas  when  you're  crazy  to  do 
a  lot  of  things  you  can't  do — and  some  people 
make  you  so  mad!  If  I'd  been  born  different 
and  not  minding  ugly  things  and  loving  pretty 
ones,  I  wouldn't  have  hated  that  hat  so.  That's 
gone,  anyhow.  I've  been  wanting  to  see  how 
high  I  could  kick  it  ever  since  Miss  Cattie  sent 
it  to  me,  and  now  I've  done  it.  I've  got  a  lot 
of  old  clothes  I'd  like  to  send  to  Ballyhack,  but 
I  can't  send." 

She  stopped,  smoothed  her  rumpled  dress,  and 
shook  back  the  long  loose  curls  which  had  fallen 
over  her  face.  "I  must  be  getting  sorry  for 
myself.  If  I  am  I  ought  to  be  spanked.  I 
can't  spank,  but  I  can  dance.  If  you  don't  head 
it  off  quick  it  goes  to  your  liver.  I'll  head!" 

With  a  swift  movement  Carmencita  sprang 
2  5 


HOW    IT   HAPPENED 

across  the  room  and  from  the  mantel  took  down 
a  once  beribboned  but  now  faded  and  worn 
tambourine.  "You'd  rather  cry,"  she  said,  un 
der  her  breath,  "but  you  sha'n't  cry.  I  won't 
let  you.  Dance!  Dance!  Dance!" 

Aloft  the  tambourine  was  shaken,  and  its  few 
remaining  bells  broke  gaily  on  the  air  as  with 
abandon  that  was  bewildering  in  grace  and  sup 
pleness  the  child  leaped  into  movement  swift 
and  light  and  amazing  in  beauty.  Around  the 
room,  one  arm  akimbo,  one  hand  now  in  the  air, 
now  touching  with  the  tambourine  the  hard, 
bare  floor,  now  tossing  back  the  loose  curls,  now 
waving  gaily  overhead,  faster  and  faster  she 
danced,  her  feet  in  perfect  rhythm  to  the  bells; 
then  presently  the  tambourine  was  thrown  upon 
the  table,  and  she  stopped  beside  it,  face  flushed, 
eyes  shining,  and  breath  that  came  in  quick, 
short  gasps. 

"That  was  much  better  than  crying."  She 
laughed.  "There  isn't  much  you  can  do  in  this 
world,  Carmencita,  but  you  can  dance.  You've 
got  to  do  it,  too,  every  time  you  feel  sorry  for 
yourself.  I  wonder  if  I  could  see  Miss  Frances 
before  I  go  for  Father?  I  must  see  her.  Must! 
Those  Beckwith  babies  have  got  the  croup,  and 
I  want  to  ask  her  if  she  thinks  it's  awful  piggy 

6 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

in  me  to  put  all  my  money,  or  'most  all,  in 
Father's  present.  And  I  want  to  ask  her —  I 
could  ask  Miss  Frances  things  all  night.  Maybe 
the  reason  I'm  not  a  thankful  person  is  I'm  so 
inquiring.  I  expect  to  spend  the  first  hundred 
years  after  I  get  to  heaven  asking  questions/' 

Going  over  to  the  mantel,  Carmencita  looked 
at  the  little  clock  upon  it.  "I  don't  have  to  go 
to  the  wedding-place  for  father  until  after  six," 
she  said,  slowly,  "and  I'd  like  to  see  Miss 
Frances  before  I  go.  If  I  get  there  by  half  past 
five  I  can  see  the  people  get  out  of  their  auto 
mobiles  and  sail  in.  I  wish  I  could  sail  some 
where.  If  I  could  see  some  grandness  once  and 
get  the  smell  of  cabbage  and  onions  out  of  my 
nose,  which  I  never  will  as  long  as  the  Rhein- 
himers  live  underneath  us,  I  wouldn't  mind  the 
other  things  so  much,  but  there  isn't  any  chance 
of  grandness  coming  as  high  up  in  the  air  as 
this.  I  wonder  if  God  has  forgot  about  us !  He 
has  so  many  to  remember — " 

With  a  swift  turn  of  her  head,  as  if  listening, 
Carmencita's  eyes  grew  shy  and  wistful,  then 
she  dropped  on  her  knees  by  the  couch  and 
buried  her  face  in  her  arms.  "If  God's  forgot 
I'll  remind  Him,"  she  said,  and  tightly  she 
closed  her  eyes. 

7 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

"O  God" — the  words  came  eagerly,  fervent 
ly — "we  are  living  in  the  same  place,  and  every 
day  I  hope  we  will  get  in  a  better  one,  but 
until  we  do  please  help  me  to  keep  on  making 
Father  think  I  like  it  better  than  any  other  in 
town.  I  thought  maybe  You  had  forgotten 
where  we  were.  I'm  too  little  to  go  to  work 
yet,  and  that's  why  we're  still  here.  We  can't 
pay  any  more  rent,  or  we'd  move.  And  won't 
You  please  let  something  nice  happen?  I  don't 
mean  miracles,  or  money,  or  things  like  that, 
but  something  thrilly  and  exciting  and  romantic, 
if  You  can  manage  it.  Every  day  is  just  the 
same  sort  of  sameness,  and  I  get  so  mad-tired 
of  cooking  and  cleaning  and  mending,  before 
school  and  after  school  and  nights,  that  if  some 
thing  don't  happen  soon  I'm  afraid  Father  will 
find  out  what  a  pretending  person  I  am,  and  he 
mustn't  find.  It's  been  much  better  since  I 
knew  Miss  Frances.  I'm  awful  much  obliged 
to  You  for  letting  me  know  her,  but  she  isn't 
permanent,  Mother  McNeil  says,  and  may  go 
away  soon.  I'm  going  to  try  to  have  a  grand 
Christmas  and  be  as  nice  as  I  can  to  Mrs.  Rhein- 
himer,  but  she's  so  lazy  and  dirty  it's  hard  not 
to  tell  her  so.  And  if  You  could  let  a  nice  thing 
happen  for  Christmas  I  hope  You  will.  If  it 

8 


HOW   IT    HAPPENED 

could  be  a  marriage  and  I  could  be  bridesmaid 
I'd  like  that  best,  as  I've  never  been  to  an  in 
side  wedding,  just  outside  on  the  street.  I 
don't  care  for  poor  marriages.  Amen." 

On  her  feet,  Carmencita  hesitated,  then,  going 
to  a  closet  across  the  room,  took  from  its  top 
shelf  a  shabby  straw  hat  and  put  it  on.  "This 
was  bought  for  me  and  fits,"  she  said,  as  if  to 
some  one  by  her  side,  "and,  straw  or  no  straw, 
it  feels  better  than  that  Coachman  Cattie, 
which  is  gone  for  evermore.  Some  day  I  hope 
I  can  burn  you  up,  too  " — she  nodded  to  the  coat 
into  which  she  was  struggling — "but  I  can't  do  it 
yet.  You're  awful  ugly  and  much  too  big,  but 
you're  warm  and  the  only  one  I've  got.  I'll 
have  half  an  hour  before  it's  time  to  go  for 
Father.  If  Miss  Frances  is  home  I  can  talk  a 
lot  in  half  an  hour," 


CHAPTER  II 


ARMENCITA  knocked.  There  was 
no  answer.  She  knocked  again.  After 
the  third  knock  she  opened  the  door 

Wand,  hand  on  the  knob,  looked  in. 
"Oh,   Miss  Frances,   I  was  afraid 
you  had  gone  out!     I  knocked  and 
knocked,  but  you  didn't   say  come  in,  so  I 
thought  I'd  look.     Please  excuse  me!" 

The  girl  at  the  sewing-machine,  which  was 
close  to  the  window  and  far  from  the  door, 
stopped  its  running,  turned  in  her  chair,  and 
held  out  her  hand.  "Hello,  Carmencita!  I'm 
glad  it's  you  and  not  Miss  Perkins.  I  wouldn't 
want  Miss  Perkins  to  see  me  trying  to  sew,  but 
you  can  see.  Take  off  your  coat.  Is  it  cold 
out?" 

"Getting  cold."  The  heavy  coat  was  laid 
on  one  chair,  and  Carmencita,  taking  up  a  half- 
made  gingham  dress  from  another,  sat  in  it  and 
laid  the  garment  in  her  lap.  "I  didn't  know 
you  knew  how  to  sew." 

10 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

"I  don't."  The  girl  at  the  machine  laughed. 
"Those  Simcoe  children  didn't  have  a  dress  to 
change  in,  and  I'm  practising  on  some  skirts 
and  waists  for  them.  Every  day  I'm  finding 
out  something  else  I  don't  know  how  to  do. 
I  seem  to  have  been  taught  a  good  many  things 
there  is  no  special  need  of  knowing,  and  very 
few  I  can  make  use  of  down  here." 

"You  didn't  expect  to  come  down  here  when 
you  were  learning  things,  did  you?"  Cannen- 
cita's  eyes  were  gravely  watching  the  efforts 
being  made  to  thread  the  machine's  needle. 
"I  guess  when  you  were  a  little  girl  you  didn't 
know  there  were  things  like  you  see  down  here. 
What  made  you  come  here,  Miss  Frances? 
You  didn't  have  to.  What  made  you  come?" 

Into  the  fine  fair  face  color  crept  slowly,  and 
for  a  moment  a  sudden  frown  ridged  the  high 
forehead  from  which  the  dark  hair,  parted  and 
brushed  back,  waved  into  a  loose  knot  at  the 
back  of  her  head;  then  she  laughed,  and  her 
dark  eyes  looked  into  Carmencita's  blue  ones. 

"Why  did  I  come?"  The  gingham  dress  on 
which  she  had  been  sewing  was  folded  care 
fully.  "I  came  to  find  out  some  of  the  things 
I  did  not  know  about.  I  wasn't  of  any  particu 
lar  use  to  anybody  else.  No  one  needed  me. 

ii 


HOW    IT   HAPPENED 

I  had  a  life  on  my  hands  that  I  didn't  know  what 
to  do  with,  and  I  thought  perhaps — " 

"You  could  use  it  down  here?  You  could 
use  a  dozen  down  here,  but  you  weren't  meant 
not  to  get  married.  Aren't  you  ever  going  to 
get  married,  Miss  Frances?" 

"I  hardly  think  I  will."  Frances  B arbour 
got  up  and  pushed  the  machine  against  the 
wall.  "The  trouble  about  getting  married  is 
marrying  the  right  man.  One  so  often  doesn't. 
I  wouldn't  like  to  make  a  mistake."  Again 
she  smiled. 

"Don't  see  how  you  could  make  a  mistake. 
Isn't  there  some  way  you  can  tell?" 

"My  dear  Carmencita!"  Stooping,  the  child's 
face  was  lifted  and  kissed.  "I'm  not  a  bit  in 
terested  in  men  or  marriage.  They  belong  to 
— to  a  long,  long  time  ago.  I'm  interested  now 
in  little  girls  like  you,  and  in  boys,  and  babies, 
and  gingham  dresses,  and  Christmas  trees,  and 
night  classes,  and  the  Dramatic  School  for  the 
children  who  work,  and — " 

"I'm  interested  in  them,  too,  but  I'm  going 
to  get  married  when  I'm  big  enough.  I  know 
you  work  awful  hard  down  here,  but  it  wasn't 
what  you  were  born  for.  I'm  always  feeling, 
right  inside  me,  right  here" — Carmencita's 

12 


HOW    IT    HAPPENED 

hand  was  laid  on  her  breast — "that  you  aren't 
going  to  stay  here  long,  and  it  makes  an  awful 
sink  sometimes.  You'll  go  away  and  forget 
us,  and  get  married,  and  go  to  balls  and  parties 
and  wear  satin  slippers  with  buckles  on  them, 
and  dance,  and  I'd  do  it,  too,  if  I  were  you. 
Only — only  I  wish  sometimes  you  hadn't  come. 
It  will  be  so  much  harder  when  you  go  away." 

"But  I'm  not  going  away."  At  the  little 
white  bureau  in  the  plainly  furnished  room  of 
Mother  McNeil's  "Home,"  Frances  stuck  the 
pins  brought  from  the  machine  into  the  little 
cushion  and  nodded  gaily  to  the  child  now  stand 
ing  by  her  side.  "I've  tried  the  parties  and 
balls  and — all  the  other  things,  and  for  a  while 
they  were  very  nice;  and  then  one  day  I  found 
I  was  spending  all  my  time  getting  ready  for 
them  and  resting  from  them,  and  there  was  never 
time  for  anything  else.  If  I  had  died  it  would 
not  have  mattered  the  least  bit  that  I  had 
lived.  And—" 

"Didn't  you  have  a  sweetheart  that  it  mat 
tered  to?  Not  even  one?" 

Into  hers  Carmencita's  eyes  were  looking 
firmly,  and,  turning  from  them,  Frances  made 
effort  to  laugh;  then  her  face  whitened. 

"One  can  never  be  sure  how  much  things 
13 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

matter  to  others,  Carmencita.  We  can  only 
be  sure  of  how  much  they  matter — to  us.  But 
it  was  Christmas  we  were  to  talk  about.  It's 
much  nicer  to  talk  about  Christmas.  We  can't 
talk  very  long,  for  I  meet  the  'Little  Mothers' 
at  half  past  six,  and  after  that  I — " 

"And  I've  got  to  go  at  half  past  five  to  meet 
Father  when  he's  through  with  that  wedding 
up-town,  and  then  we're  going  shopping.  I've 
got  a  lot  to  talk  about.  The  Beckwith  babies 
are  awful  sick.  I  guess  it  would  be  a  good 
thing  if  they  were  to  die.  They  are  always 
having  colic  and  cramps  and  croup,  and  they've 
got  a  coughing  mother  and  a  lazy  father;  but 
they  won't  die.  Some  babies  never  will.  Did 
you  know  Mr.  Rheinhimer  had  been  on  an 
other  spree?"  Carmencita,  feet  fastened  in  the 
rounds  of  her  chair,  elbows  on  knees,  and  chin 
in  the  palms  of  her  hand,  nodded  affirmatively 
at  the  face  in  front  of  her.  "Worst  one  yet. 
He  smashed  all  the  window-panes  in  the  bed 
room,  and  broke  two  legs  of  their  best  chairs 
doing  it,  and  threw  the  basin  and  pitcher  out 
of  the  window.  He  says  he'd  give  any  man 
living  five  hundred  dollars,  if  he  had  it,  if  he'd 
live  with  his  wife  a  month  and  not  shake  her. 
She  is  awful  aggravating.  She's  always  in  curl 

14 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

papers,  and  don't  wear  corsets,  and  nags  him 
to  death.  She  says  she  wishes  you'd  send  him 
to  a  cure  or  something.  And  I  want  to  tell 
you  about  Father's  present." 

For  twenty  minutes  they  talked  long  and 
earnestly.  Carmencita's  list  of  names  and 
number  of  pennies  were  gone  over  again  and 
again,  and  when  at  last  she  got  up  to  go  the 
perplexities  of  indecision  and  adjustment  were 
mainly  removed,  and  she  sighed  with  satisfac 
tion. 

"I'm  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  helping 
me  fix  it."  The  piece  of  paper  was  carefully 
pinned  to  the  inside  of  the  coat.  "I'm  not 
going  to  get  anything  but  Father's  present  to 
night.  I  won't  have  to  go  to  school  to-morrow, 
and  I  want  the  buying  to  last  as  long  as  possible. 
Isn't  it  funny  the  way  Christmas  makes  you 
feel?" 

Carmencita's  hands  came  suddenly  together, 
and,  pressing  them  on  her  breast,  her  eyes  grew 
big  and  shining.  Standing  first  on  one  foot  and 
then  on  the  other,  she  swayed  slightly  forward, 
then  gave  a  leap  in  the  air. 

"I  can't  help  it,  Miss  Frances,  I  really  can't! 
It's  something  inside  me — something  that  makes 
me  wish  I  was  all  the  world's  mother!  And 

15 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

I'm  so  squirmy  and  thrilly  and  shivery,  think 
ing  of  the  things  I'd  do  if  I  could,  that  some 
times  I'm  bound  to  jump — just  bound  to! 
I'm  almost  sure  something  nice  is  going  to 
happen.  Did  you  ever  feel  that  way,  Miss 
Frances?" 

"I  used  to  feel  that  way."  The  clear  dark 
eyes  for  a  moment  turned  from  the  eager  ones 
of  the  child.  "It's  a  very  nice  way  to  feel. 
When  one  is  young — though  perhaps  it  is  not 
so  much  youth  as  hope  in  the  heart,  and  love, 
and—" 

"I  don't  love  everybody.  I  loathe  Miss 
Cattie  Burns.  She's  the  very  old  dev —  I 
promised  Father  I  wouldn't  say  even  a  true 
mean  thing  about  anybody  for  a  month,  and 
I've  done  it  twice!  I'd  much  rather  love  peo 
ple,  though.  I  love  to  love!  It  makes  you 
feel  so  nice  and  warm  and  homey.  If  I  had  a 
house  I'd  have  everybody  I  know — I  mean  all 
the  nice  everybodies — to  spend  Christmas  with 
me.  Isn't  it  funny  that  at  Christmas  some 
thing  in  you  gets  so  lonely  for — for —  I  don't 
know  what  for,  exactly,  but  it's  something  you 
don't  mind  so  much  not  having  at  other  times." 

Carmencita's  arms  opened  to  their  full 
length,  then  circled  slowly,  and  her  hands 

16 


HOW    IT   HAPPENED 

crossed  around  her  neck.  "It's  the  time  to 
wipe  out  and  forget  things,  Father  says.  It's 
the  home-time  and  the  heart-time  and — "  In 
her  voice  was  sudden  anxiety.  "You  are  not 
going-  away  for  Christmas  are  you,  Miss 
Frances?" 

"Not  for  Christmas  eve."  She  hesitated. 
"I'm  not  quite  sure  what  I'm  going  to  do  on 
Christmas  day.  My  people  live  in  different 
places  and  far  apart.  It  is  all  very  different 
from  what  it  used  to  be.  When  one  is  alone — " 

She  stopped  abruptly  and,  going  over  to  the 
window,  looked  down  on  the  street  below; 
and  Carmencita,  watching,  saw  the  face  turned 
from  hers  twist  in  sudden  pain.  For  a  moment 
she  stood  puzzled  and  helpless.  Something  she 
did  not  understand  was  troubling,  something 
in  which  she  could  not  help.  What  was  it? 

"You  couldn't  be  alone  at  Christmas,  Miss 
Frances."  Slowly  she  came  toward  the  win 
dow,  and  shyly  her  hand  slipped  into  that  of 
her  friend.  "There  are  too  many  wanting  you. 
Father  and  I  can't  give  fine  presents  or  have 
a  fine  dinner,  but  there  wouldn't  be  words 
in  which  to  tell  you  how  thankful  we'd  be  if 
you'd  spend  it  with  us.  Would  you — would 
you  come  to  us,  Miss  Frances?" 

17 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

Into  the  eager  blue  eyes  looking  up  the  dark 
eyes  looked  down,  and,  looking,  grew  misty. 
"Dear  child,  I'd  come  to  you  if  I  were  here,  but 
I  do  not  think  I'll  be  here."  Her  head  went 
up  as  if  impatient  with  herself.  "I'm  going 
away  on  Christmas  day — going — "  She  took 
out  her  watch  hurriedly  and  looked  at  it.  "It's 
after  half  past  five,  Carmencita.  You  will  have 
to  hurry  or  you  won't  see  the  wedding  guests 
go  in.  Good-by,  dear.  Have  a  good  time  and 
tuck  away  all  you  see  to  tell  me  later.  I  will 
be  so  busy  between  now  and  Christmas,  there 
will  be  no  time  for  talking,  but  after  Christ 
mas —  Why,  you've  got  on  your  straw  hat, 
Carmencita!  Where  is  the  winter  one  Miss 
Cattie  gave  you?  She  told  me  she  had  given 
you  a  perfectly  good  hat  that  would  last  a 
long  time." 

"She  did."  Carmencita's  hands  were  stuck 
in  the  deep  pockets  of  her  long  coat,  and  again 
her  big  blue  eyes  were  raised  to  her  friend's. 
"It  would  have  lasted  for  ever  if  it  hadn't  got 
burned  up.  It  fell  in  the  fire  and  got  burned  up." 
Out  in  the  hall  she  hesitated,  then  came  back, 
opened  the  door,  and  put  her  head  in.  "It 
did  get  burned  up,  Miss  Frances.  I  burned  it. 
Good-by." 

18 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

Late  into  the  night  Frances  B  arbour  sat  at 
her  desk  in  the  bare  and  poorly  furnished  room 
which  she  now  called  hers,  and  wrote  letters, 
settled  accounts,  wrapped  bundles,  assorted 
packages,  and  made  lists  of  matters  to  be  at 
tended  to  on  the  next  day.  When  at  last 
through,  with  the  reaction  that  comes  from 
overtired  body  and  nerves  she  leaned  back  in 
her  chair  and  let  her  hands  fall  idly  in  her  lap, 
and  with  eyes  that  saw  not  looked  across  at  the 
windows,  on  whose  panes  bits  of  hail  were  tap 
ping  weirdly.  For  some  minutes  thought  was 
held  in  abeyance;  then  suddenly  she  crossed 
her  arms  on  the  table,  and  her  face  was  hidden 
in  them. 

"Oh,  Stephen!  Stephen!"  Under  her  breath 
the  words  came  wearily.  "We  were  so  foolish, 
Stephen;  such  silly  children  to  give  each  other 
up!  All  through  the  year  I  know,  but  never 
as  I  do  at  Christmas.  And  we — we  are  each 
other's,  Stephen!"  With  a  proud  uplifting  of 
her  head  she  got  up.  "I  am  a  child,"  she  said, 
"a  child  who  wants  what  it  once  refused  to 
have.  But  until  he  understood — "  Quickly 
she  put  out  the  light. 


CHAPTER  III 


E  was  ashamed  of  himself  for  being' 
ashamed.  Why  on  earth  should  he 
hesitate  to  tell  Peterkin  he  would 
dine  alone  on  Christmas  day  ?  It  was 
none  of  Peterkin 's  business  how  he 
dined,  or  where,  or  with  whom.  And 
still  he  had  not  brought  himself  to  the  point  of 
informing  Peterkin,  by  his  order  for  dinner  at 
home,  that  he  was  not  leaving  town  for  the 
holidays,  that  he  was  not  invited  to  dine  with 
any  one  else,  and  that  there  was  no  one  he 
cared  to  invite  to  dine  with  him.  It  was  the 
22d  of  December,  and  the  custodian  in  charge 
of  his  domestic  arrangements  had  not  yet  been 
told  what  his  plans  were  for  the  25th.  He  had 
no  plans. 

He  might  go,  of  course,  to  one  of  his  clubs. 
But  worse  than  telling  Peterkin  that  he  would 
dine  alone  would  be  the  public  avowal  of  having 
nowhere  to  go  which  dining  at  the  club  would 
not  only  indicate,  but  affirm.  Besides,  at 


20 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

Christmas  a  club  was  ghastly,  and  the  few  who 
dropped  in  had  a  half-shamed  air  at  being  there 
and  got  out  as  quickly  as  possible.  He  could 
go  to  Hallsboro,  but  Hallsboro  no  longer  bore 
even  a  semblance  to  the  little  town  in  which  he 
had  been  born — had,  indeed,  become  something 
of  a  big  city,  bustling,  busy,  and  new,  and 
offensively  up-to-date;  and  nowhere  else  did 
he  feel  so  much  a  stranger  as  in  the  place  he 
had  once  called  home.  He  was  but  twelve 
when  his  parents  moved  away,  and  eight  months 
later  died  within  a  week  of  each  other,  and  for 
years  he  had  not  been  back.  Had  there  been 
brothers  and  sisters —  Well,  there  were  no 
brothers  and  sisters,  and  by  this  time  he  should 
be  used  to  the  fact  that  he  was  very  much 
alone  in  the  world. 

Hands  in  his  pockets,  Stephen  Van  Landing 
leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  looked  across  the 
room  at  a  picture  on  the  wall.  He  did  not  see 
the  picture ;  he  saw,  instead,  certain  things  that 
were  not  pleasant  to  see.  No,  he  would  not  go 
to  Hallsboro  for  Christmas. 

Turning  off  the  light  in  his  office  and  closing 
the  door  with  unnecessary  energy,  Van  Landing 
walked  down  the  hall  to  the  elevator,  then  turned 
away  and  toward  the  steps.  Reaching  the 

3  21 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

street,  he  hesitated  as  to  the  car  he  should  take, 
whether  one  up-town  to  his  club  or  one  across 
to  his  apartment,  and  as  he  waited  he  watched 
the  hurrying  crowd  with  eyes  in  which  were 
baffled  impatience  and  perplexity.  It  was  in 
comprehensible,  the  shopping  craze  at  this 
season  of  the  year.  He  wished  there  was  no 
such  season.  Save  for  his  very  young  child 
hood  there  were  few  happy  memories  connected 
with  it,  but  only  of  late,  only  during  the  past 
few  years,  had  the  recurrence  awakened  within 
him  a  sort  of  horror,  its  approach  a  sense  of 
loneliness  that  was  demoralizing,  and  its  cele 
bration  an  emptiness  in  life  that  chilled  and 
depressed  beyond  all  reason.  Why  was  it  that 
as  it  drew  near  a  feeling  of  cowardice  so  pos 
sessed  him  that  he  wanted  to  go  away,  go  any 
where  and  hide  until  it  was  over,  go  where  he 
could  not  see  what  it  meant  to  others?  It  was 
humanity's  home-time,  and  he  had  no  home. 
Why— 

"An  ass  that  brays  is  wiser  than  the  man  who 
asks  what  can't  be  answered,"  he  said,  under 
his  breath.  "For  the  love  of  Heaven,  quit  it! 
Why-ing  in  a  man  is  as  inexcusable  as  whining 
in  a  woman.  There's  my  car — crowded,  of 
course!" 

22 


HOW    IT   HAPPENED 

For  some  minutes  longer  he  waited  for  a  car 
on  which  there  was  chance  to  get  a  foothold, 
then,  buttoning  his  overcoat,  put  his  hands  in 
his  pockets  and  began  the  walk  to  his  club. 
The  season  had  been  mild  so  far,  but  a  change 
was  coming,  and  the  two  days  left  for  Christ 
mas  shopping  would  doubtless  be  stormy  ones. 
On  the  whole,  it  might  be  fortunate.  There 
was  a  good  deal  of  nonsense  in  this  curious  cus 
tom  of  once  a  year  getting  on  a  giving  jag, 
which  was  about  what  Christmas  had  degen 
erated  into,  and  if  something  could  prevent  the 
dementia  that  possessed  many  people  at  this 
season  it  should  be  welcomed.  It  had  often 
puzzled  him,  the  behavior  of  the  human  family 
at  this  so-called  Christian  holiday  in  which 
tired  people  were  overworked,  poor  people 
bought  what  they  couldn't  afford,  and  the  rich 
gave  unneeded  things  to  the  rich  and  were 
given  unwanted  ones  in  return.  The  hands  of 
all  people — all  places — had  become  outstretched. 
It  wasn't  the  giving  of  money  that  mattered. 
But  what  did  matter  was  the  hugeness  of  the 
habit  which  was  commercializing  a  custom 
whose  origin  was  very  far  removed  from  the 
spirit  of  the  day. 

With  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders  he  shoved  his 
23 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

hands  deeper  down  into  his  pockets.  "Quit 
again,"  he  said,  half  aloud.  "What  do  you 
know  of  the  spirit  of  the  day?" 

Not  only  of  the  spirit  of  the  day  did  he  know 
little,  but  of  late  with  acute  conviction  it  was 
dawning  on  him  that  he  knew  little  of  many 
other  things.  Certainly  he  was  getting  little 
out  of  life.  For  a  while,  after  professional  recog 
nition  had  come  to  him,  and  with  it  financial 
reward,  he  had  tested  society,  only  to  give  it 
up  and  settle  down  to  still  harder  work  during 
the  day  and  his  books  when  the  day  was  done. 
The  only  woman  he  had  ever  wanted  to  marry 
had  refused  to  marry  him.  His  teeth  came 
down  on  his  lips.  He  still  wanted  her.  In  all 
the  world  there  was  but  one  woman  he  loved 
or  could  love,  and  for  three  years  he  had  not 
seen  her.  It  was  his  fault.  He  was  to  blame. 
It  had  taken  him  long  to  see  it,  but  he  saw  it 
now.  There  had  been  a  difference  of  opinion, 
a  frank  revealing  of  opposing  points  of  view, 
and  he  had  been  told  that  she  would  not  sur 
render  her  life  to  the  selfishness  that  takes  no 
part  in  activities  beyond  the  interests  of  her 
own  home.  He  had  insisted  that  when  a 
woman  marries  said  home  and  husband  should 
alone  claim  her  time  and  heart,  and  in  the 

24 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

multitude  of  demands  which  go  into  the  cultural 
and  practical  development  of  a  home  out  of  a 
house  there  would  be  sufficient  opportunity  for 
the  exercise  of  a  woman's  brain  and  ability. 
He  had  been  such  a  fool.  What  right  had  he 
to  limit  her,  or  she  him?  It  had  all  been  so 
silly  and  such  a  waste,  such  a  horrible  waste 
of  happiness. 

'  For  she  had  loved  him.  She  was  not  a  wom 
an  to  love  lightly,  as  he  was  not  a  man,  and  hers 
was  the  love  that  glorifies  life.  And  he  had 
lost  it.  That  is,  he  had  lost  her.  Three  years 
ago  she  had  broken  their  engagement.  Two 
years  of  this  time  had  been  spent  abroad.  A 
few  months  after  their  return  her  mother  died 
and  her  home  was  given  up.  Much  of  the  time 
since  her  mother's  death  had  been  spent  with 
her  married  sisters,  who  lived  in  cities  far 
separated  from  one  another,  but  not  for  some 
weeks  had  he  heard  anything  concerning  her. 
He  did  not  even  know  where  she  was,  or  where 
she  would  be  Christmas. 

"Hello,  Van!" 

The  voice  behind  made  him  turn.    The  voice 
was  Bleeker  McVeigh's. 

"Where  are  the  wedding  garments?    Don't 
mean  you're  not  going!" 

25 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

"Going  where?"  Van  Landing  fell  into 
step.  "Whose  wedding?" 

McVeigh  lighted  a  fresh  cigarette.  "You 
ought  to  be  hung.  I  tell  you  now  you  won't  be 
bidden  to  my  wedding.  Why  did  you  tell 
Jockie  you'd  come,  if  you  didn't  intend 
to?" 

Van  Landing  stopped  and  for  a  minute  stared 
at  the  man  beside  him.  "I  forgot  this  was  the 
twenty-second,"  he  said.  "Tell  Jock  I'm  dead. 
I  wish  I  were  for  a  week." 

"Ought  to  be  dead."  McVeigh  threw  his 
match  away.  "A  man  who  ignores  his  fellow- 
beings  as  you've  ignored  yours  of  late  has  no 
right  to  live.  Better  look  out.  Don't  take 
long  to  be  forgotten.  Good  night." 

It  was  true  that  it  didn't  take  long  to  be 
forgotten.  He  had  been  finding  that  out  rather 
dismally  of  late,  finding  out  also  that  a  good 
many  things  Frances  had  told  him  about  him 
self  were  true.  Her  eyes  could  be  so  soft  and 
lovely  and  appealing;  they  were  wonderful 
eyes,  but  they  could  blaze  as  well.  And  she 
was  right.  He  was  selfish  and  conventional 
and  intolerant.  That  is,  he  had  been.  He 
wished  he  could  forget  her  eyes.  In  all  ways 
possible  to  a  man  of  his  type  he  had  tried  to 

26 


HOW    IT   HAPPENED 

forget,  but  forgetting  was  beyond  his  power. 
Jock  had  loved  half  a  dozen  women  and  this 
afternoon  he  was  to  be  married  to  his  last  love. 
Were  he  on  Jock's  order  he  might  have  married. 
He  wasn't  on  Jock's  order. 

Reaching  his  club,  he  started  to  go  up  the 
steps,  then  turned  and  walked  away.  To  'go 
in  would  provoke  inquiry  as  to  why  he  was  not 
at  the  wedding.  He  took  out  his  watch.  It 
was  twenty  minutes  of  the  hour  set  for  the 
ceremony.  He  had  intended  to  go,  but —  Well, 
he  had  forgotten,  and  was  glad  of  it.  He  loathed 
weddings. 

As  he  reached  the  building  in  which  was  his 
apartment  he  again  hesitated  and  again  walked 
on.  An  unaccountable  impulse  led  him  in  the 
direction  of  the  house,  a  few  blocks  away,  in 
which  his  friend  was  to  be  married,  and  as  he 
neared  it  he  crossed  the  street  and  in  the  dark 
ness  of  the  late  afternoon  looked  with  eyes, 
half  mocking,  half  amazed,  at  the  long  line  of 
limousines  which  stretched  from  one  end  of 
the  block  to  the  other.  At  the  corner  he 
stopped.  For  some  minutes  he  stood  looking 
at  the  little  group  of  people  who  made  effort 
to  press  closer  to  the  entrance  of  the  awning 
which  stretched  from  door  to  curbing,  then 

27 


HOW    IT   HAPPENED 

turned  to  go,  when  he  felt  a  hand  touch  him 
lightly  on  the  arm. 

"If  you  will  come  up  to  the  top  of  the  steps 
you  can  see  much  better,"  he  heard  a  voice  say. 
''I've  seen  almost  everybody  go  in.  I  just  ran 
down  to  tell  you." 


CHAPTER  IV 


URNING,  Van  Landing  looked  into 
the  little  face  upraised  to  his,  then 
lifted  his  hat.  She  was  so  enveloped 
in  the  big  coat  which  came  to  her 
heels  that  for  half  a  moment  he  could 
not  tell  whether  she  was  ten  or  twenty. 
Then  he  smiled. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said.  "I  don't  know  that 
I  care  to  see.  I  don't  know  why  I  stopped." 
"Oh,  but  it  is  perfectly  grand,  seeing  them 
is!  You  can  see  everything  up  there  " — a  little 
bare  hand  was  waved  behind  her  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  porch — "and  nothing  down  here. 
And  you  looked  like  you  wanted  to  see.  There 
have  been  kings  and  queens,  and  princes  and 
princesses,  and  dukes  and  duchesses,  and  sirs 
and—"  She  looked  up.  "What's  the  lady 
name  for  sir?  'Tisn't  siress,  is  it?" 

' '  I  believe  not. ' '     Van  Landing  laughed.     ' '  I 
didn't  know  there  was  so  much  royalty  in  town." 
"There  is.     They  are  royals — that  kind  of 
29 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

people."  Her  hand  pointed  in  the  direction 
of  the  house  from  which  could  be  heard  faint 
strains  of  music.  "They  live  in  palaces,  and 
wave  wands,  and  eat  out  of  gold  plates,  and 
wear  silk  stockings  in  the  morning,  and — oh, 
they  do  everything  that's  splendid  and  grand 
and  magnificent  and — " 

"Do  you  think  people  are  splendid  and  grand 
and  magnificent  because  they  live  in  palaces 
and  wear — " 

"Goodness  gracious!"  The  big  blue  eyes 
surveyed  the  speaker  with  uncertainty.  "Are 
you  one  of  them,  too?" 

"One  what?" 

"Damanarkists.  Mr.  Leimberg  is  one.  He 
hates  people  who  live  in  palaces  and  wave 
wands  and  have  delicious  things  to  eat.  He 
don't  believe  in  it.  Mr.  Ripple  says  it's  be 
cause  he's  a  damanarkist  and  very  dangerous. 
Mr.  Leimberg  thinks  men  like  Mr.  Ripple  ought 
to  be  tarred  and  feathered.  He  says  he'd  take 
the  very  last  cent  a  person  had  and  give  it  to 
blood-suckers  like  that" — and  again  the  red 
little  hand  was  waved  toward  the  opposite  side 
of  the  street.  "Mr.  Ripple  collects  our  rent. 
I  guess  it  does  take  a  lot  of  money  to  live  in  a 
palace,  but  I'd  live  in  one  if  I  could,,  though 

30 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

I'd  try  not  to  be  very  particular  about  rents 
and  things.  And  I'd  have  chicken-pie  for  din 
ner  every  day  and  hot  oysters  for  supper  every 
night;  and  I'd  ask  some  little  girls  sometimes 
to  come  and  see  me — that  is,  I  think  I  would. 
But  maybe  I  wouldn't.  It's  right  easy  to  for 
get  in  a  palace,  I  guess.  Oh,  look — there's 
somebody  else  going  in!  Hurry,  mister,  or 
you  won't  see!" 

Following  the  child  up  the  flight  of  stone 
steps,  Van  Landing  stood  at  the  top  and  looked 
across  at  the  arriving  cars,  whose  occupants 
were  immediately  lost  to  sight  in  the  tunnel,  as 
his  new  acquaintance  called  it,  and  then  he 
looked  at  her. 

Very  blue  and  big  and  wonder-filled  were  her 
eyes,  and,  tense  in  the  effort  to  gain  the  last 
glimpse  of  the  gorgeously  gowned  guests,  she 
stood  on  tiptoe,  leaning  forward  eagerly,  and 
suddenly  Van  Landing  picked  her  up  and  put 
her  on  top  of  the  railing.  Holding  on  to  his 
coat,  the  child  laughed  gaily. 

"Aren't  we  having  a  good  time?"  Her 
breath  was  drawn  in  joyously.  "It's  almost  as 
good  as  being  inside.  Wouldn't  you  like  to 
be?  I  would.  I  guess  the  bride  is  beautiful, 
with  real  diamonds  on  her  slippers  and  in  her 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

hair,  and — "  She  looked  down  on  Van  Land 
ing.  "My  father  is  in  there.  He  goes  to  'most 
all  the  scrimptious  weddings  that  have  harps 
to  them.  He  plays  on  the  harp  when  the  min 
ister  is  saying  the  words.  Do  you  think  it  is 
going  to  be  a  very  long  wedding?" 

A  note  of  anxiety  in  the  child's  voice  made 
Van  Landing  look  at  her  more  closely,  and  as 
she  raised  her  eyes  to  his  something  stirred 
within  him  curiously.  What  an  old  little  face 
it  was!  All  glow  and  eagerness,  but  much  too 
thin  and  not  half  enough  color,  and  the  hat 
over  the  loose  brown  curls  was  straw. 

"I  don't  think  it  will  be  long."  His  voice 
was  cheerfully  decisive.  "That  kind  is  usually 
soon  over.  Most  of  a  wedding's  time  is  taken 
in  getting  ready  for  it.  Did  you  say  your 
father  was  over  there?" 

The  child's  head  nodded.  "They  have  a 
harp,  so  I  know  they  are  nice  people.  Father 
can't  give  lessons  any  more,  because  he  can't 
see  but  just  a  teensy,  weensy  bit  when  the  sun 
is  shining.  He  used  to  play  on  a  big  organ, 
and  we  used  to  have  oysters  almost  any  time, 
but  that  was  before  Mother  died.  Father  was 
awful  sick  after  she  died,  and  there  wasn't  any 
money,  and  when  he  got  well  he  was  almost 

32 


HOW    IT   HAPPENED 

blind,  and  he  can't  teach  any  more,  and  'most 
all  he  does  now  is  weddings  and  funerals.  I 
love  him  to  go  to  weddings.  He  makes  the 
others  tell  him  everything  they  see,  and  then 
he  tells  me,  and  we  have  the  grandest  time 
making  out  we  were  sure  enough  invited,  and 
talking  of  what  we  thought  was  the  best  thing 
to  eat,  and  whose  dress,  was  the  prettiest,  and 
which  lady  was  the  loveliest —  Oh,  my  good 
ness!  Look  there!" 

Already  some  of  the  guests  were  departing; 
and  Van  Landing,  looking  at  his  watch,  saw  it 
was  twenty  minutes  past  six.  Obviously  among 
those  present  were  some  who  failed  to  feel  the 
enthusiasm  for  weddings  that  his  new  friend 
felt.  With  a  smile  he  put  the  watch  away, 
and,  placing  the  child's  feet  more  firmly  on  the 
railing,  held  her  so  that  she  could  rest  against 
his  shoulder.  She  could  hardly  be  more  than 
twelve  or  thirteen,  and  undersized  for  that,  but 
the  oval  face  was  one  of  singular  intelligence, 
and  her  eyes — her  eyes  were  strangely  like  the 
only  eyes  on  earth  he  had  ever  loved,  and  as 
she  settled  herself  more  comfortably  his  heart 
warmed  curiously,  warmed  as  it  had  not  done 
for  years.  Presently  she  looked  down  at 
him. 

33 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

"I  don't  think  you're  a  damanarkist."  Her 
voice  was  joyous.  "You're  so  nice.  Can  you 
see  good?" 

"Very  good.  There  isn't  much  to  see.  One 
might  if  it  weren't  for  that — " 

"Old  tunnel!  I  don't  think  they  ought  to 
have  them  if  it  isn't  snowing  or  raining.  Oh,  I 
do  hope  Father  can  come  out  soon!  If  I  tell 
you  something  will  you  promise  not  to  tell,  not 
even  say  it  to  yourself  out  loud?"  Her  face 
was  raised  to  his.  "I'm  going  to  get  Father's 
Christmas  present  to-night.  We're  going  down 
town  when  he  is  through  over  there.  He  can't 
see  me  buy  it,  and  it's  something  he  wants 
dreadfully.  I've  been  saving  ever  since  last 
Christmas.  It's  going  to  cost  two  dollars  and 
seventy-five  cents."  The  eager  voice  trailed 
off  into  an  awed  whisper.  "That's  an  awful 
lot  to  spend  on  something  you're  not  bound  to 
have,  but  Christmas  isn't  like  any  other  time. 
I  spend  millions  in  my  mind  at  Christmas. 
Have  you  bought  all  your  things,  Mr. — Mr. — 
I  don't  even  know  your  name."  She  laughed. 
"What's  your  name,  Mr.  Man?" 

Van  Landing  hesitated.  Caution  and  reserve 
were  inherent  characteristics.  Before  the  child's 
eyes  they  faded. 

34 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

"Van  Landing,"  he  said.  "Stephen  Van 
Landing." 

"Mine  is  Carmencita.  Father  named  me 
that  because  when  I  was  a  teensy  baby  I  kicked 
my  feet  so,  and  loved  my  tambourine  best  of 
all  my  things.  Have  you  bought  all  your  Christ 
mas  gifts,  Mr.  Van — I  don't  remember  the  other 
part." 

>    "I  haven't  any  to  buy — and  no  one  to  buy 
for.     That  is—" 

"Good  gracious!"  The  child  turned  quick 
ly;  in  her  eyes  and  voice  incredulity  was  un 
restrained.  "I  didn't  know  there  was  any 
body  in  all  the  world  who  didn't  have  anybody 
to  buy  for!  Are  you — are  you  very  poor,  Mr. 
Van?  You  look  very  nice." 

"I  think  I  must  be  very  poor."  Van  Land 
ing  fastened  his  glasses  more  securely  on  his 
nose.  "I'm  quite  sure  of  it.  It  has  been  long 
since  I  cared  to  buy  Christmas  presents.  I 
give  a  few,  of  course,  but — " 

"And  don't  you  have  Christmas  dinner  at 
home,  and  hang  up  your  stocking,  and  buy  toys 
and  things  for  children,  and  hear  the  music  in 
the  churches?  I  know  a  lot  of  carols.  Father 
taught  me.  I'll  sing  one  for  you.  Want  me? 
Oh,  I  believe  they  are  coming  out !  Father  said. 

35 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

they  wouldn't  want  him  as  long  as  the  others. 
If  I  lived  in  a  palace  and  was  a  royal  lady  I'd 
have  a  harp  longer  than  anything  else,  but 
Father  says  it's  on  account  of  the  food.  Food 
is  awful  high,  and  people  would  rather  eat  than 
hear  harps.  Oh,  there's  Father!  I  must  go, 
Mr.  Van.  Thank  you  ever  so  much  for  hold 
ing  me." 

With  a  movement  that  was  scientific  in  its 
dexterity  the  child  slipped  from  Van  Landing's 
arms  and  jumped  from  the  railing  to  the  porch, 
and  without  so  much  as  a  turn  of  the  head  ran 
down  the  steps  and  across  the  street.  Darting 
in  between  two  large  motor-cars,  Van  Landing 
saw  her  run  forward  and  take  the  hand  of  a 
man  who  was  standing  near  the  side-entrance 
of  the  house  in  which  the  wedding  had  taken 
place.  It  was  too  dark  to  distinguish  his  face, 
and  in  the  confusion  following  the  calling  of 
numbers  and  the  hurrying  off  of  guests  he  felt 
instinctively  that  the  man  shrank  back,  as  is 
the  way  of  the  blind,  and  an  impulse  to  go  over 
and  lead  him  away  made  him  start  down  the 
steps. 

At  the  foot  he  stopped.  To  go  over  was  im 
possible.  He  would  be  recognized.  For  half 
a  moment  he  hesitated.  It  was  his  dinner 

36 


HOW   IT  HAPPENED 

hour,  and  he  should  go  home;  but  he  didn't 
want  to  go  home.  The  stillness  and  orderliness 
of  his  handsome  apartment  was  suddenly  irri 
tating.  It  seemed  a  piece  of  mechanism  made 
to  go  so  smoothly  and  noiselessly  that  every  ele 
ment  of  humanness  was  lacking  in  it ;  and  with 
something  of  a  shiver  he  turned  down  the  street 
and  in  the  direction  opposite  to  that  wherein 
he  lived.  The  child's  eyes  had  stirred  memo 
ries  that  must  be  kept  down;  and  she  was  right. 
He  was  a  poor  man.  He  had  a  house,  but  no 
home,  and  he  had  no  Christmas  presents  to 
buy. 


CHAPTER  V 


R.  Van!    Mr.  Van!" 

He  turned  quickly.  Behind,  his 
new-made  acquaintance  was  making 
effort  to  run,  but  to  run  and  still  hold 
the  hand  of  her  father -was  difficult. 
With  a  smile  he  stopped. 
"Oh,  Mr.  Van!"  The  words  came  breath 
lessly.  "I  was  so  afraid  we  would  lose  you! 
Father  can't  cross  quick,  and  once  I  couldn't 
see  you.  Here  he  is,  Father."  She  took  Van 
Landing's  hand  and  laid  it  in  her  father's. 
"He  can  tell  by  hands,"  she  said,  "whether 
you're  a  nice  person  or  not.  I  told  him  you 
didn't  have  anybody,  and — " 

Van  Landing's  hand  for  a  moment  lay  in  the 
stranger's,  then  he  shook  the  latter's  warmly 
and  again  raised  his  hat.  In  the  circle  of  light 
caused  by  the  electric  lamp  near  which  they 
stood  the  blind  man's  face  could  be  seen  dis 
tinctly,  and  in  it  was  that  one  sees  but  rarely 

38 


HOW    IT   HAPPENED 

in  the  faces  of  men,  and  in  Van  Landing's 
throat  came  sudden  tightening. 

"Oh,  sir,  I  cannot  make  her  understand,  can 
not  keep  her  from  talking  to  strangers!"  The 
troubled  voice  was  of  a  strange  quality  for  so 
shabbily  clothed  a  body,  and  in  the  eyes  that 
saw  not,  and  which  were  lifted  to  Van  Land 
ing's,  was  sudden  terror.  "She  believes  all 
people  to  be  her  friends.  I  cannot  always  be 
with  her,  and  some  day — " 

"But,  Father,  you  said  that  whoever  didn't 
have  any  friends  must  be  our  friend,  because — 
because  that's  all  we  can  be — just  friends. 
And  he  hasn't  any.  I  mean  anybody  to  make 
Christmas  for.  He  said  so  himself.  And  can't 
he  go  with  us  to-night  and  see  the  shops?  I 
know  he's  nice,  Father.  Please,  please  let 
him!" 

The  look  of  terrified  helplessness  which  for 
a  moment  swept  over  the  gentle  face,  wherein 
suffering  and  sorrow  had  made  deep  impress, 
but  in  which  was  neither  bitterness  nor  com 
plaint,  stirred  the  heart  within  him  as  not  for 
long  it  had  been  stirred,  and  quickly  Van  Land 
ing  spoke. 

"It  may  not  be  a  good  plan  generally,  but 
this  time  it  was  all  right,"  he  said.  "She  spoke 

39 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

to  me  because  she  thought  I  could  not  see  what 
was  going  on  across  the  street,  and  very  kindly 
shared  her  better  position  with  me.  I — "  He 
hesitated.  His  name  would  mean  nothing  to 
the  man  before  him.  Their  worlds  were  very 
different  worlds.  It  was  possible,  however, 
that  this  gentle,  shrinking  creature,  with  a  face 
so  spiritualized  by  life's  denials  that  it  shamed 
him  as  he  looked,  knew  more  of  his,  Van  Land 
ing's,  world  than  he  of  the  blind  man's,  and  sud 
denly,  as  if  something  outside  himself  directed, 
he  yielded  to  a  strange  impulse. 

It  was  true,  what  the  child  had  said.  He  had 
few  friends — that  is,  friends  in  the  sense  the 
child  meant.  Of  acquaintances  he  had  many, 
very  many.  At  his  club,  in  business,  in  a 
rather  limited  social  set,  he  knew  a  number  of 
people  well,  but  friends —  If  he  were  to  die 
to-morrow  his  going  would  occasion  but  the 
usual  comment  he  had  often  heard  concerning 
others.  Some  years  ago  he  had  found  himself 
continually  entertaining  what  he  called  his 
friends,  spending  foolish  sums  of  money  on 
costly  dinners,  and  quite  suddenly  he  had  quit. 
As  long  as  he  entertained  he  was  entertained  in 
return,  and  for  some  time  after  he  stopped  he 
still  received  invitations  of  many  sorts,  but  in 

40 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

cynical  realization  of  the  unsatisfactoriness  of 
his  manner  of  life  he  had  given  it  up,  and  in  its 
place  had  come  nothing  to  answer  the  hunger 
of  his  heart  for  comradeship  and  human  cheer. 
His  opinion  of  life  had  become  unhealthy.  As 
an  experience  for  which  one  is  not  primarily 
responsible  it  had  to  be  endured,  but  out  of  it 
he  had  gotten  little  save  what  men  called  suc 
cess  ;  and  that,  he  had  long  since  found,  though 
sweet  in  the  pursuit,  was  bitter  in  achievement 
if  there  was  no  one  who  cared — and  for  his 
nobody  really  cared.  This  blind  man  with  the 
shabby  clothes  and  ill-nourished  body  was 
richer  than  he.  He  had  a  child  who  loved  him 
and  whom  he  loved. 

"It  is  true  what  your  little  girl  has  told  you." 
Van  Landing  took  off  his  glasses  and  wiped 
them.  "I  have  no  one  to  make  Christmas  for, 
and  if  you  don't  mind  I  wish  you  would  let  me 
go  with  you  to  the  shops  to-night.  I  don't 
know  much  about  Christmas  buying.  My 
presents  are  chiefly  given  in  mon —  I  mean 
I  don't  know  any  little  children." 

"And  I  know  forty  billion!"  Carmencita's 
arms  were  outstretched  and  her  hands  came 
together  with  ecstatic  emphasis.  "If  I  didn't 
stop  to  blink  my  eyes  between  now  and  Christ- 


HOW    IT    HAPPENED 

mas  morning  I  couldn't  buy  fast  enough  to  fill 
all  the  stockings  of  the  legs  I  know  if  I  had  the 
money  to  buy  with.  There's  Mrs.  McTarrens's 
four,  and  the  six  Blickers,  and  the  ashman's 
eight,  and  the  Roysters,  and  little  Sallie  Simcoe, 
and  old  Mr.  Jenkinson,  and  Miss  Becky  who 
mends  pants  and  hasn't  any  front  teeth,  and 
Mr.  Leimberg.  I'd  get  him  specs.  He  has 
to  hold  his  book  like  this" — and  the  palms  of 
two  little  red  hands  were  held  close  to  Car- 
mencita's  eyes.  "Oh,  Father,  please  let  him 
go!" 

Hesitating,  the  blind  man's  eyes  were  again 
upturned,  and  again  Van  Landing  spoke. 

"You  are  right  to  be  careful;  but  you  need 
not  fear.  My  name  is  Van  Landing,  and  my 
office—" 

"You  are  a  gentleman!"  Two  hands  with 
their  long  slender  fingers  were  outstretched,  and 
swiftly  they  stroked  Van  Landing's  arms  and 
body  and  face.  "Your  voice,  your  hands,  tell 
me  your  class,  and  your  clothes  that  you  have 
money.  Why — oh,  why  do  you  want  to  go 
with  us?"  Quickly  his  right  hand  drew  his 
child  toward  him,  and  in  terror  he  pressed  her 
to  his  side.  "She  is  my  all,  my  light,  my  life! 
Away  from  her  I  am  in  darkness  you  could  not 

42 


HOW    IT   HAPPENED 

understand.     No,  you  must  not  go  with  us. 
You  must  go  away  and  leave  us!" 

For  a  moment  Van  Landing  hesitated,  puz 
zled  by  the  sudden  fear  in  the  man's  face,  then 
over  his  own  crept  grayness,  and  the  muscles 
in  it  stiffened. 

"My  God!"  he  said,  and  his  mouth  grew  dry. 
"Have  men  brought  men  to  this?" 

For  another  half -moment  there  was  silence 
which  the  child,  looking  from  one  to  the  other, 
could  not  understand,  and  her  hands,  pressed 
close  to  her  breast,  gripped  tightly  her  cold 
fingers.  Presently  Van  Landing  turned. 

"Very  well,"  he  said.  "I  will  go.  It  was 
just  that  I  know  little  of  a  real  Christmas. 
Good  night." 

"Oh,  don't  go— don't  go,  Mr.  Van!  It's 
going  to  be  Christmas  two  days  after  to-morrow, 
Father,  and  the  Christ-child  wouldn't  like  it  if 
you  let  him  go!"  Carmencita  held  the  sleeve 
of  Van  Landing's  coat  with  a  sturdy  clutch. 
"He  isn't  a  damanarkist.  I  can  tell  by  his 
eyes.  They  are  so  lonely-looking.  You  aren't 
telling  a  story,  are  you  Mr.  Van?  Is  it  truly 
truth  that  you  haven't  anybody?" 

"It  is  truly  truth,"  he  said.  "I  mean  any 
body  to  make  Christmas  for." 

43 


HOW    IT   HAPPENED 

"No  mother  or  father  or  a  little  girl  like  me? 
Haven't  you  even  got  a  wife?" 

"Not  even  a  wife."     Van  Landing  smiled. 

"You  are  as  bad  as  Miss  Barbour.  She 
hasn't  anybody,  either,  now,  she  says,  'most 
everybody  being — " 

"Miss  who?"  Van  Landing  turned  so  sharp 
ly  that  the  child  jumped.  "Who  did  you 
say?" 

"Miss  Barbour."  The  eyes -which  were  so 
like  those  he  could  not  forget  were  raised  to 
his.  "If  you  knew  Miss  Barbour  she  could  tell 
you  of  plenty  of  people  to  make  Christmas  for. 
She's  living  right  now  with  Mother  McNeil, 
who  isn't  really  anybody's  mother,  but  just 
everybody's.  But  she  don't  live  there  all  the 
time.  Most  of  her  people  are  dead  or  mar 
ried  and  don't  need  her,  so  she  came  to  Mother 
McNeil  to  see  how  children  down  there  live. 
What's  the  matter,  Mr.  Van?" 

To  hide  the  upleaping  flame  in  his  face  and 
the  sudden  trembling  of  his  hands  Van  Land 
ing  stooped  down  and  picked  up  the  handker 
chief  he  had  dropped;  then  he  stepped  back  and 
out  of  the  circle  of  light  in  which  he  had  been 
standing.  For  a  moment  he  did  not  speak 
lest  his  voice  be  as  unsteady  as  his  hands,  but, 

44 


HOW    IT   HAPPENED 

taking  out  his  watch,  he  looked  at  it,  then  put  it 
back  with  fumbling  fingers. 

"Her  first  name — Miss  Barbour's  first  name," 
he  said,  and  the  dryness  of  his  throat  made  his 
words  a  little  indistinct.  "What  is  it?" 

With  mouth  rounded  into  a  little  ball,  Car- 
mencita  blew  on  her  stiff  finger-tips.  ' '  Frances, ' ' 
she  said,  and  first  one  foot  and  then  the  other 
was  stamped  for  purpose  of  warmth.  "The 
damanarkist  says  God  made  her,  but  the  devil 
has  more  to  do  with  most  women  than  anybody 
else.  He  don't  like  women.  Do  you  know 
her,  Mr.  Van?" 

' '  If  your  friend  is  my  friend — I  know  her  very 
well,"  he  said,  and  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets 
to  hide  the  twitching  of  his  fingers.  "A  long 
time  ago  she  was  the  only  real  friend  I  had, 
and  I  lost  her.  I  have  wanted  very  much  to 
find  her." 

"Oh,  Father,  if  he  knows  Miss  Barbour  he's 
bound  to  be  all  right!"  Carmencita's  arms 
were  flung  above  her  head  and  down  again,  and 
on  her  tiptoes  she  danced  gaily  round  and 
round.  "We  can  show  him  where  she  lives." 
She  stopped.  "No,  we  can't.  She  told  me  I 
must  never  do  that.  I  mustn't  send  any  one 
to  her,  but  I  could  tell  her  of  anybody  I  wanted 

45 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

her  to  know  about."  Head  uplifted,  her  eyes 
searched  Van  Landing's,  and  her  words  came  in 
an  awed  whisper,  "Was — was  she  your  sweet 
heart,  Mr.  Van?" 

"She  was."  Again  Van  Landing  wiped  his 
forehead.  It  didn't  in  the  least  matter  that 
he  was  telling  to  this  unknown  child  the  most 
personal  of  matters.  Nothing  mattered  but 
that  perhaps  he  might  find  Frances.  "You 
must  take  me  to  her,"  he  said.  "I  must  see 
her  to-night." 

"I  can't  take  you  to  see  her  to-night.  She 
wouldn't  like  it.  Oh,  I  know!"  Carmencita 
made  another  rapid  whirl.  "We  can  go  down 
town  and  get" — she  nodded  confidentially  to 
her  new-made  friend  and  pointed  her  finger  in 
her  father's  direction — "and  then  we  can  come 
back  and  have  some  toast  and  tea;  and  then 
I'll  send  for  Miss  Barbour  to  come  quick,  as  I 
need  her  awful,  and  when  she  comes  in  you  can 
say:  'Oh,  my  lost  and  loved  one,  here  I  am! 
We  will  be  married  right  away,  this  minute!' 
I  read  that  in  a  book  once.  Won't  it  be  grand? 
But  you  won't — "  The  dancing  ceased,  and 
her  hands  stiffened  in  sudden  anxiety.  "You 
won't  take  her  away,  will  you?" 

"If  she  will  come  with  me  I  will  not  take 
46 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

her  where  she  won't  come  back.  Can't  we 
start?" 

But  the  child  was  obdurate.  She  would  do 
nothing  until  her  purchase  was  made,  and  to 
her  entreaties  her  father  finally  yielded,  and  a 
few  minutes  later  Van  Landing  and  his  new 
acquaintances  were  on  a  down-town  car,  bound 
for  a  shopping  district  as  unknown  to  him  as 
the  shops  in  which  he  was  accustomed  to  deal 
were  unknown  to  them. 

Still  a  bit  dazed  by  his  chance  discovery, 
he  made  no  comment  on  the  child's  continual 
chatter,  but  let  her  exuberance  and  delight 
have  full  play  while  he  tried  to  adjust  himself 
to  a  realization  that  made  all  thought  but  a 
chaotic  mixture  of  hope  and  doubt,  of  turbulent 
fear  and  determined  purpose,  and  of  one  thing 
only  was  he  sure.  Three  years  of  his  life  had 
been  wasted.  Another  hour  should  not  be  lost 
were  it  in  his  power  to  prevent. 


CHAPTER  VI 


w 


HEN  the  store  was  reached  Van  Land 
ing  for  the  first  time  was  able  to  see 
distinctly  the  faces  of  Carmencita  and 
her  father,  and  as  for  a  moment  he 
watched  the  slim  little  body  in  its  long 
coat,  once  the  property,  undoubtedly, 
of  a  much  bigger  person,  saw  her  eager,  wonder- 
filled  eyes,  and  the  wistful  mouth  which  had 
learned  to  smile  at  surrender,  the  strings  of 
his  heart  twisted  in  protest,  and  for  the  "daman- 
arkist"  of  whom  she  had  spoken,  for  the  mo 
ment  he  had  sympathy  of  which  on  yesterday 
there  would  have  been  no  understanding.  She 
could  not  be  more  than  twelve  or  thirteen,  he 
thought,  but  condition  and  circumstance  had 
made  her  a  woman  in  many  matters,  and  the 
art  of  shopping  she  knew  well.  Slowly,  very 
slowly,  she  made  her  way  to  the  particular 
counter  at  which  her  precious  purchase  was  to 
be  made,  lingering  here  and  there  to  gaze  at 
things  as  much  beyond  her  hope  of  possession 

48 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

as  the  stars  of  heaven ;  and,  following  her  slow 
walking,  Van  Landing  could  see  her  eyes 
brighten  and  yearn,  her  lips  move,  her  hand 
outstretch  to  touch  and  then  draw  back  quickly, 
and  also  every  now  and  then  he  could  see  her 
shake  her  head. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked.  "Why  do  you  do 
that  ?  Is  there  anything  in  here  you  would  like 
to  get,  besides  the  thing  you  came  for?" 

"Anything  I'd  like  to  get!"  The  words  were 
repeated  as  if  not  heard  aright.  "Anybody 
would  know  you'd  never  been  a  girl.  There 
isn't  much  in  here  I  wouldn't  like  to  get  if  I 
didn't  have  to  pay  for  it." 

"But  not  rattles  and  dolls  and  drums  and 
pop-guns  and  boxing-gloves  and  all  the  other 
things  you've  looked  at.  Girls  of  your  age — " 

"This  girl  wasn't  looking  at  them  for  her 
self.  I'm  'most  grown  up  now.  But  everybody 
on  our  street  has  got  a  baby,  and  a  lot  of  chil 
dren  besides.  Mrs.  Perry  has  twins  and  a 
baby,  and  Mrs.  Latimer  always  has  two  on  a 
bottle  at  the  same  time.  I'm  just  buying 
things  in  my  mind.  It's  the  only  way  I  can 
buy  'em,  and  Christmas  wouldn't  be  Christmas 
if  you  couldn't  buy  some  way.  Sallie  Simcoe 
will  go  crazy  if  she  don't  get  a  doll  that  whistles. 

49 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

She  saw  one  in  a  window  once.  It  was  a  Whist 
ling  Jim  and  cost  a  dollar.  She  won't  get  it. 
Oh,  here  it  is,  Mr.  Van!  Here's  the  counter 
where  the  jewelry  things  are." 

As  she  neared  it  she  nodded  to  Van  Landing 
and  pointed  to  her  father,  who,  hand  on  her 
shoulder,  had  kept  close  to  her,  then  beckoned 
him  to  come  hearer.  ' '  He  can't  see,  I  know ' ' — 
her  voice  was  excited — "but  take  him  away, 
won't  you?  I  wouldn't  have  him  guess  it,  not 
for  anything  on  earth!  I'll  be  through  in  a 
minute." 

In  moments  incredibly  few,  but  to  Van  Land 
ing  tormentingly  long,  she  was  back  again,  and 
close  to  her  heart  she  was  hugging  a  tiny  pack 
age  with  one  hand,  while  the  other  was  laid  on 
her  father's  arm.  "I  got  it,"  she  whispered; 
"it's  perfectly  beautiful."  She  spoke  louder. 
"I  guess  we'd  better  be  going  now.  I  know 
you're  hungry,  and  so  am  I.  Come  on.  We 
can  walk  home,  and  then  I'll  make  the  tea."  \ 

For  a  second  Van  Landing  hesitated,  then 
he  followed  the  odd-looking  couple  out  into  the 
street,  but  as  they  started  to  turn  the  corner , 
he  stopped. 

"I  say" — he  cleared  his  throat  to  hide  its 
embarrassed  hesitation — "don't  you  want  to 

So 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

do  me  a  favor?  Where  I  live  I  don't  buy  the 
things  I  eat,  and  I've  often  thought  I'd  like 
to.  If  you  are  going  to  make  the  tea  and  toast, 
why  can't  I  get  the — the  chicken,  say,  and  some 
salad  and  things?  That's  a  good-looking  win 
dow  over  there  with  cooked  stuff  in  it.  We'll 
have  a  party  and  each  put  in  something." 

"Chicken?"  Into  his  face  the  child  gazed 
with  pitying  comprehension  of  his  ignorance, 
and  in  her  voice  was  shrill  amusement.  "Chick 
en!  Did  you  ever  price  one?  I  have,  when 
I'm  having  kings  and  queens  taking  dinner  with 
me  in  my  mind.  People  don't  have  chicken 
'cept  at  Christmas,  and  sometimes  Sundays  if 
there  hasn't  been  anybody  out  of  work  for  a 
long  time.  Come  on.  I've  got  a  box  of  sar 
dines.  Just  think,  Father,  he  wants  to  buy  a 
chicken!" 

With  a  gay  little  laugh  in  which  was  shrewd 
knowledge  of  the  unthinkableness  of  certain 
indulgences,  the  child  slipped  one  arm  through 
her  father's  and  another  through  Van  Landing's, 
and  with  a  happy  skip  led  the  way  down  the 
poorly  lighted  street.  A  solid  mass  of  dreary- 
looking  houses,  with  fronts  unrelieved  by  a 
distinguishing  feature,  stretched  as  far  as  the 
eye  could  see,  and  when  a  few  blocks  had  been 

Si 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

walked  it  was  with  a  sense  of  relief  that  a  cor 
ner  was  turned  and  Van  Landing  found  him 
self  at  the  foot  of  a  flight  of  steps  up  which 
the  child  bounded  and  beckoned  him  to  follow. 

The  house  was  like  the  others,  one  of  a  long 
row,  and  dull  and  dark  and  dingy,  but  from  its 
basement  came  a  baby's  wailing,  while  from  the 
floor  above,  as  the  hall  was  entered,  could  be 
heard  the  rapid  click  of  a  sewing-machine. 
Four  flights  of  steps  were  mounted ;  then  Car- 
mencita  took  the  key  from  her  father's  pocket 
and  opened  the  door. 

"This  is  our  suite,"  she  said,  and  courtesied 
low.  "Please  strike  a  match,  if  you  have  one, 
Mr.  Van.  This  house  is  very  old,  and  history 
houses  don't  have  electric  lights.  The  ghosts 
wouldn't  like  it.  Some  of  my  best  friends  are 
ghosts.  I'll  be  back  in  a  minute." 

As  she  ran  into  the  little  hall  room  adjoin 
ing  the  large  room  which  he  saw  comprised 
their  "suite,"  Van  Landing  lighted  the  lamp 
near  the  mantel  and  looked  around.  In  the 
center  was  a  marble-topped  table,  and  on  it 
a  lamp,  a  work-basket,  and  several  magazines 
with  backs  half  gone.  The  floor  was  bare  save 
for  a  small  and  worn  rug  here  and  there,  and 
on  the  sills  of  the  uncurtained  windows  two 

52 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

hardy  geraniums  were  blooming  bravely.  A 
chest  of  drawers,  a  few  chairs,  a  shelf  of  books, 
a  rug-covered  cot,  a  corner  cupboard,  a  wash- 
stand  behind  a  serene,  and  a  small  table 
near  the  stove,  behind  which  a  box  of  wood 
could  be  seen,  completed  its  furnishings;  and 
still,  despite  its  bareness,  there  was  something 
in  it  which  was  not  in  the  place  wherein 
he  lived,  and  wonderingly  he  again  looked 
around.  Had  he  found  himself  in  the  moon 
or  at  the  bottom  of  the  Dead  Sea  it  would  be 
hardly  less  remarkable  than  finding  himself 
here.  Adventures  of  this  sort  were  entirely 
out  of  his  experience.  As  regulated  as  a  piece 
of  machinery  his  life  had  become  of  late,  and 
the  routine  of  office  and  club  and  house  had 
been  accepted  as  beyond  escape,  and  the  chance 
meeting  of  this  little  creature — 

' '  Oh,  my  goodness !  I  forgot  to  put  the  ket 
tle  on!" 

With  a  spring  that  came  apparently  from  the 
door  opposite  the  stove  near  which  he  was 
standing  Carmencita  was  by  his  side,  and,  swift 
movement  following  swift  movement,  the  lid 
of  the  stove  was  lifted,  wood  put  in,  the  kettle 
of  water  put  on,  and  the  table  drawn  farther 
out  in  the  floor.  A  moment  more  the  lamp  was 
5  53 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

lighted,  her  father's  coat  and  hat  in  place,  his 
chair  drawn  up  to  the  now  roaring  fire;  then, 
with  speculation  in  her  eyes,  she  stood  for  half 
a  moment,  hands  on  hips,  looking  first  at  Van 
Landing  and  then  at  the  cupboard  in  the  corner. 

For  the  first  time  he  saw  well  the  slender  lit- 
tel  body  out  of  its  long,  loose  coat,  the  heavy, 
brown  curls  which  tumbled  over  the  oval  face, 
the  clear  eyes  that  little  escaped,  so  keen  was 
their  quality,  and  the  thin  legs  with  their  small 
feet  in  large  shoes,  and  as  he  looked  he  smiled. 

"Well,"  he  asked,  "can  I  help  you?  You 
seem  very  uncertain." 

"I  am.  Put  your  hat  and  coat  over  there" 
— she  pointed  to  the  covered  cot  close  to  the 
wall — "then  come  back  and  tell  me." 

He  did  as  directed  and,  hands  in  pockets, 
stood  again  in  front  of  her.  "Is" — his  face 
whitened — "is  it  about  Miss  Barbour?  Can 
you  send  her  word?" 

"Send  now?  I  guess  not!"  On  tiptoes  the 
child  looked  for  something  on  the  mantel-piece. 
"We  haven't  had  supper  yet,  and  I'm  so  hungry 
I  could  eat  air.  Besides,  she  has  a  class  to 
night — The  Little  Big  Sisters.  I'm  one  when 
I  can  go,  but  I  can't  go  often."  She  waved  her 
hand  in  the  direction  of  her  father.  "I'll  send 

54 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

for  her  'bout  half  past  nine.  Which  do  you 
like  best,  sardines  with  lemon  on  'em,  or  toasted 
cheese  on  toast  with  syrup  afterward  ?  Which  ?" 

The  tone  was  one  of  momentous  inquiry. 
Miss  Barbour's  coming  was  a  matter  that  could 
wait,  but  supper  necessitated  a  solemn  decision 
which  must  be  made  at  once.  Hands  clasped 
behind  her,  the  blue  eyes  grew  big  with  sus 
pense,  and  again  she  repeated,  "Which?" 

"I  really  don't  know.  Both  are  very  good. 
I  believe  I  like  sardines  better  than —  Oh  no, 
I  don't."  He  had  caught  the  flicker  of  disap 
pointment  in  the  anxious  little  face.  "I  mean 
I  think  toasted  cheese  the  best  thing  to  eat 
that's  going.  Let's  have  that!" 

"All  right."  With  another  spring  the  child 
was  at  the  cupboard,  and  swiftly  she  went  to 
work.  ' '  Read  to  father,  won't  you  ?"  she  called, 
without  looking  round.  "In  that  magazine 
with  the  geranium  leaf  sticking  out  is  where  I 
left  off.  You'll  have  to  read  right  loud." 

Drawing  his  chair  close  to  the  lighted  lamp, 
Van  Landing  took  his  seat  near  the  blind 
musician,  and  for  the  first  time  noticed  the 
slender,  finely  formed  fingers  of  the  hands  now 
resting  on  the  arms  of  the  chair  in  which  he 
sat;  noticed  the  shiny,  well-worn  coat  and  the 

55 


HOW    IT    HAPPENED 

lock  of  white  hair  that  fell  across  the  high  fore 
head;  saw  the  sensitive  mouth;  and  as  he 
looked  he  wondered  as  to  the  story  that  was 
his.  An  old  one,  perhaps.  Born  of  better 
blood  than  his  present  position  implied,  he  had 
evidently  found  the  battle  of  life  more  than  he 
was  equal  to,  and,  unfit  to  fight,  he  had  doubt 
less  slipped  down  and  down  in  the  scale  of 
human  society  until  to-day  he  and  his  child 
were  dwellers  on  the  borderland  of  the  slums. 

He  found  the  article  and  began  to  read. 
The  technicalities  of  musical  composition  had 
never  appealed  to  him,  but,  though  by  him  the 
writer's  exhaustive  knowledge  of  his  subject 
was  not  appreciated,  by  his  listener  it  was 
greatly  so,  and,  in  tense  eagerness  to  miss  no 
word,  the  latter  leaned  forward  and  kept  his 
sightless  eyes  in  the  direction  of  the  sound 
of  his  voice. 

Not  for  long  could  he  read,  however.  In  a 
few  moments  Carmencita's  hands  were  out 
stretched,  and,  giving  one  to  each,  she  led 
them  to  the  table,  and  at  it  he  sat  down  as 
naturally  as  though  it  were  a  familiar  occur 
rence.  In  the  center  was  a  glass  jar  with  a 
spray  of  red  geranium  in  it,  and  behind  the 
earthen  tea-pot  the  child  presided  with  the 

56 


"WHICH   DO   YOU   LIKE    BEST,  SARDINES  WITH   LEMON   ON   'EM,  OR 
TOASTED  CHEESE  ON  TOAST?" 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

ease  of  long  usage.  As  she  gave  him  his  tea  he 
noticed  it  was  in  the  only  unchipped  cup,  and 
on  the  one  kept  for  herself  there  was  no  handle. 
Under  his  breath  he  swore  softly.  Why —  He 
mentally  shook  himself.  This  was  no  time  for 
why-ing. 

As  an  appetizer  the  toasted  cheese  on  toasted 
bread  was  excellent,  but  the  supper — if  she  had 
only  let  him  get  it.  He  had  not  dared  insist, 
and  never  had  he  been  more  consciously  a 
guest,  but  could  people  live  on  fare  so  scant  as 
this?  It  was  like  Frances  to  want  to  know 
how  other  people  lived — and  not  to  be  content 
with  knowing.  But  after  she  knew  how  could 
she  sleep  at  night?  Great  God!  If  there  was 
to  be  a  day  of  judgment  what  could  men  say — 
men  like  himself  and  his  friends? 


CHAPTER  VII 


The 


OR  half  an  hour  longer  Carmencita 
chatted  gaily,  offering  dish  after  dish 
of  imaginary  food  with  the  assurance 
that  it  would  cause  no  sickness  or  dis 
comfort,  and  at  the  child's  spirit  and 
imagination  Van  Landing  marveled, 
years  of  ignorance  and  indifference,  in 


which  he  had  not  cared  to  know  what  Frances 
knew  all  men  should  know,  came  back  dis- 
quietingly,  and  he  wondered  if  for  him  it  were 
too  late. 

As  Carmencita  got  up  to  clear  the  table  he 
took  out  his  watch  and  looked  at  it,  then  put 
it  quickly  back  lest  she  should  see.  Who  was 
going  to  take  the  note?  Why  couldn't  he  go 
to  the  place  at  which  was  held  the  class  of 
Little  Big  Sisters  and  get  Frances?  With  a 
quick  indrawing  breath  he  handed  his  host 
cigars. 

"I  hope  you  smoke,"  he  said;  "that  is,  if 
Carmencita  does  not  object." 

58 


HOW    IT   HAPPENED 

"Oh,  I  don't  object.  Smoke!"  Carmencita's 
hand  was  waved.  "After  I  wash  the  dishes 
I'll  write  the  note,  then  I'll  go  down  and  get 
Noodles  to  take  it.  I'll  ask  Mr.  Robinsky  to 
bring  the  harp  up,  Father.  He  brought  it  home 
for  us;  he's  a  flute-er."  The  explanation  was 
made  to  Van  Landing.  "He  always  brings  it 
home  when  Father  and  I  are  going  somewhere 
else.  Smoke,  please.  I  love  to  smell  smoke 
smell." 

With  a  splash  the  remaining  water  in  the 
tea-kettle  was  poured  in  the  dish-pan,  and  for 
a  few  moments  the  clatter  of  knives  and  forks 
and  spoons  prevented  talk.  Over  the  blind 
man's  face  crept  the  content  that  comes  from 
a  good  cigar,  and  in  silence  he  and  his  guest 
smoked  while  Carmencita  did  her  work.  Not 
long  was  there  silence,  however,  for  very  short 
ly  the  child  was  on  a  stool  at  Van  Landing's 
feet,  in  her  hands  a  pad  of  paper,  and  on  her 
knee  a  backless  magazine. 

For  half  a  minute  she  looked  in  Van  Landing's 
face.  "Isn't  it  nice  and  funny — your  being 
here?  I  like  you."  Her  voice  was  joyous. 
"If  I  tell  you  something,  you  won't  tell?"  She 
leaned  forward,  hands  on  his  knees.  "This 
afternoon  before  I  went  out  I  asked  God  please 

59 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

to  let  something  nice  happen.  There  hasn't 
anything  very  nice  happened  for  so  long,  I  was 
afraid  He  had  forgot.  What  must  I  write,  Mr. 
Van?" 

Into  Van  Landing's  face  the  color  surged, 
then  died  away  and  left  it  strangely  white. 
The  child's  eyes  were  holding  his,  and  he  did 
not  try  to  avoid  them.  It  didn't  matter.  The 
only  thing  that  mattered  was  to  get  Frances 
quickly. 

"Tell  her  I  must  see  her  to-night,  that  I  must 
come  to  her.  Why  can't  I  go  to  her,  Carmencita  ?" 

"Because  she  doesn't  want  anybody  to  come 
to  see  her  that  she  doesn't  tell  to  come.  She 
told  me  so  herself,  and  I  wouldn't  break  her 
rules  for  a  gold  ring  with  a  ruby  in  it.  I  know. 
I'll  tell  her  I'm  bound  to  show  her  something 
to-night  or  I  won't  sleep  a  wink.  And  you'll  be 
It!  You  can  go  in  Father's  room,  and  when 
she  comes  in  you  will  come  out  and  say — 
What  will  you  say,  Mr.  Van?" 

"I  don't  know.  Perhaps  I  sha'n't  say  any 
thing.  Sometimes  one  can't." 

"I'll  look  in  that  book  I  read  once  and  see 
what  he  said,  if  you  want  me  to.  It  was  a 
beautiful  book.  It  had  an  awful  lot  of  love  in 
it.  I  know  what  I'm  going  to  write." 

60 


HOW    IT   HAPPENED 

For  some  moments  she  wrote  laboriously  on 
the  pad,  which  wabbled  badly  on  her  knees, 
then  she  folded  the  piece  of  paper  and,  getting 
up,  went  toward  the  door.  Van  Landing  fol 
lowed  her. 

"The  boy,"  he  said.  "Will  you  give  him 
this  and  tell  him  if  the  note  is  delivered  to 
Miss  B  arbour  personally  there  will  be  more 
when  he  conies  back?"  He  held  out  his  hand. 

As  if  not  seeing  aright,  Carmencita  looked 
closely  at  what  was  held  toward  her,  then  up 
in  Van  Landing's  face.  "You  must  have  plenty 
of  money,  if  you  haven't  any  friends,"  she  said, 
and  in  her  voice  was  faint  suspicion.  ' '  Noodles 
can't  have  that.  He'd  never  go  anywhere  for 
me  again  if  he  got  that  much."  Her  hand 
waved  his  away.  "When  he  comes  back,  if 
you'll  give  him  a  quarter  he'll  stand  on  his 
head.  It's  hard  and  hollow,  and  he  makes 
right  smart  standing  on  it  and  wriggling  his 
feet."  She  shook  her  head.  "It  would  ruin 
him  to  give  him  a  dollar.  Please  read  to  Father. ' ' 

Her  visitor's  face  flushed.  Why  couldn't 
he  remember?  "Very  well,"  he  said;  "man 
age  it  your  way.  Tell  him  to  hurry,  will  you?" 

Would  she  come?  With  his  lips  Stephen  Van 
Landing  was  pronouncing  the  words  of  the 

61 


HOW    IT   HAPPENED 

article  he  had  again  begun  to  read  to  the  blind 
harpist,  but  in  his  heart,  which  was  beating 
thickly,  other  words  were  surging,  and  every 
now  and  then  he  wiped  his  forehead  lest  its 
dampness  be  seen  by  the  child's  keen  eyes. 
Would  she  come?  Three  years  had  passed 
since  senseless  selfishness  on  his  part  had  made 
her  spirit  flare  and  she  had  given  him  back  his 
ring.  For  a  moment  he  had  held  it,  and  in 
the  dancing  flames  of  the  logs  upon  the  hearth 
in  the  library  of  her  beautiful  old-fashioned 
home  its  stones  had  gleamed  brilliantly,  flashed 
protesting  fire;  then  he  had  dropped  it  in  the 
blaze  and  turned  and  left  the  room.  Had  she 
forgotten,  or  had  she  suffered,  too? 

With  mechanical  monotony  the  words  con 
tinued  to  come  from  his  lips,  but  his  thoughts 
were  afar  off,  and  presently  Carmencita  took 
the  magazine  out  of  his  hand. 

"Excuse  me,"  she  said,  "but  Father  is  asleep, 
and  you  don't  know  a  word  you're  saying. 
You  might  as  well  stop." 

Putting  the  magazine  on  the  table,  Car 
mencita  drew  the  stool  on  which  she  was  sitting 
closer  to  Van  Landing's  chair,  and,  hands  clasp 
ed  around  her  knees,  looked  up  into  his  eyes. 
In  hers  was  puzzled  questioning. 

62 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

' '  I  beg  your  pardon. ' '  His  face  flushed  under 
the  grave  scrutiny  bent  upon  him.  ' '  I  was  read 
ing  abominably,  but  I  couldn't  get  my  mind — ' 

"I  know,"  Carmencita  nodded  understand- 
ingly.  "I  do  that  way  sometimes  when  I'm 
saying  one  thing  and  thinking  another,  and 
Father  always  takes  a  little  nap  until  I  get  out 
of  the  clouds.  He  says  I  spend  a  lot  of  my 
time  in  the  clouds.  I'm  bound  to  soar  some 
times.  If  I  didn't  make  out  I  wasn't  really  and 
truly  living  here,  on  the  top  floor,  with  the 
Rheinhimers  underneath,  but  just  waiting  for 
our  house  to  be  fixed  up,  I  couldn't  stand  it 
all  the  time.  I'd  go — " 

She  hesitated,  then  again  went  on.  "You 
see,  it's  this  way.  There  're  a  lot  of  things  I 
hate,  but  I've  got  to  stand  them,  and  the  only 
way  I  can  do  it  is  to  get  away  from  them  in  my 
mind  sometimes.  Father  says  it's  the  way  we 
stand  things  that  proves  the  kind  of  person  we 
are;  but  Father  is  Father,  and  I  am  me,  and 
letting  out  is  a  great  relief.  Did  you  ever  feel 
as  if  you're  bound  to  say  things  sometimes?" 

"I'm  afraid  I've  not  only  felt  I  had  to  say 
them,  but  I  said  them."  Van  Landing  looked 
at  his  watch.  "Your  Father  is  doubtless  right, 
but—" 

63 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

"Noodles  hasn't  had  time  to  get  back  yet, 
and  she  might  not  be  there."  Carmencita 
glanced  toward  the  clock.  "And  Father  is  al 
ways  right.  He's  had  to  sit  so  many  hours 
alone  and  think  and  think  and  think,  that  he's 
had  time  to  ask  God  about  a  good  many  things 
we  don't  take  time  to  ask  about.  I  pray  a  lot, 
but  my  kind  of  prayers  isn't  praying.  They're 
mostly  asking,  and  Father  says  prayer  is  re 
ceiving — is  getting  God  in  you,  I  mean.  I  don't 
understand,  but  he  does,  and  he  doesn't  ask  for 
things  like  I  do,  but  for  patience  and  courage 
and — and  things  like  that.  No  matter  what 
happens,  he  keeps  on  trusting.  I  don't.  I'm 
not  much  of  a  truster.  I  want  to  do  things  my 
way,  myself."  She  leaned  forward.  "If  I  tell 
you  something  will  you  promise  not  to  tell  any 
body,  not  even  Miss  Frances  when — when  it's 
all  right?" 

"I  promise." 

Van  Landing  nodded  at  the  eager  little  face 
upraised  to  his.  It  was  singularly  attractive 
and  appealing,  and  the  varying  emotions  that 
swept  over  it  indicated  a  temperament  that 
took  little  in  life  calmly,  or  as  a  common 
place  happening,  and  a  surge  of  protest  at  her 
surroundings  swept  over  him. 

64 


HOW    IT   HAPPENED 

"I  promise,"  he  repeated.     "I  won't  tell." 

' '  Cross  your  heart  and  shut  your  eyes  and  I 
will  tell  you." 

Hands  on  his  knees,  Carmencita  watched  the 
awkward  movements  of  Van  Landing's  fingers, 
then  she  laughed  joyously,  but  when  she  spoke 
her  voice  was  in  a  whisper. 

"I'm  writing  a  book." 

"You  are  doing  what?" 

' '  Writing  a  book !  It's  perfectly  grand.  That 
is,  some  days  it  is,  but  most  days  it  is  a  mess. 
It  was  a  mess  yesterday,  and  I  burned  up  every 
single  word  I  wrote  last  week.  I'll  show  it  to 
you  if  you  want  to  see  it." 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer  Carmencita 
sprang  to  her  feet,  and  with  noiseless  movement 
skipped  across  the  room,  and  from  the  middle 
drawer  of  the  chest  between  the  windows  took 
out  a  large  flat  box. 

"This  is  it."  Again  taking  her  seat  on  the 
stool  at  Van  Landing's  feet,  she  opened  the  box 
carefully.  One  by  one  she  lifted  out  of  it 
pieces  of  paper  of  varying  size  and  color  and 
held  them  toward  her  visitor,  who,  hands 
clasped  between  knees,  was  bending  forward 
and  watching  with  amazed  interest  the  seeming 
ly  exhaustless  contents  of  the  box  beside  him. 

65 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

"I  use  pad-paper  when  I  have  it."  Several 
white  sheets  were  laid  in  a  pile  by  themselves. 
"But  most  of  the  chapters  are  on  wrapping- 
paper.  Mrs.  Beckwith  gives  me  all  of  hers,  and 
so  does  Mrs.  Rheinhimer  when  her  children 
don't  chew  it  up  before  she  can  save  it.  That's 
chapter  fourteen.  I  don't  like  it  much,  it's 
so  squshy,  but  I  wrote  it  that  way  because 
I  read  in  a  newspaper  once  that  slops  sold  bet 
ter  than  anything  else,  and  I'm  writing  this  to 
sell,  if  I  can." 

"Have  you  named  it?"  Van  Landing's 
voice  was  as  serious  as  Carmencita's.  "  I've 
been  told  that  a  good  title  is  a  great  help  to  a 
book.  I  hope  yours  will  bring  you  a  good  deal 
of  money,  but — " 

"So  do  I."  Carmencita's  hands  came  to 
gether  fervently.  "I'm  bound  to  make  some 
money,  and  this  is  the  only  way  I  can  think  of 
until  I'm  fourteen  and  can  go  to  work.  I'm 
just  thirteen  and  two  months,  and  I  can't  go 
yet.  The  law  won't  let  me.  I  used  to  think 
it  took  a  lot  of  sense  to  write  a  book,  but  the 
Damanarkist  says  it  don't,  and  that  anybody 
who  is  fool  enough  to  waste  time  could  write 
the  truck  people  read  nowadays.  He  don't 
read  it,  but  I  do,  all  I  can  get — I  like  it." 

66 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

"I've  never  tried  to  write."  Van  Landing 
again  glanced  at  the  clock.  Noodles  was  stay 
ing  an  interminably  long  time.  "Like  you,  I 
imagined  it  took  some  measure  of  ability — " 

' '  Oh,  but  it  don't.  I  mean  it  doesn't  take  any 
to  write  things  like  that."  Carmencita's  finger 
pointed  to  several  backless  magazines  and  a 
couple  of  paper-bound  books  on  the  table  be 
hind  her.  "I  read  once  that  people  like  to  read 
things  that  make  them  laugh  and  cry  and — and 
forget  about  the  rent  money,  and  tell  all  about 
love-dovies  and  villains  and  beautiful  maidens, 
and  my  book's  got  some  of  all  those  kinds  of 
things  in  it.  It  hasn't  got  any —  What  did 
you  say  you  thought  it  took  to  write  a  book?" 

"Ability— that  is,  a  little  of  it." 

"I  guess  that  depends  on  the  kind  of  book 
it  is.  I  put  something  of  everything  I  could 
think  of  in  mine,  but  I  didn't  put  any  ability 
in.  I  didn't  have  any  to  put,  and,  besides,  I 
wanted  it  to  sell.  That's  the  chapter  I  love 
best."  A  large  piece  of  brown  paper  was 
waved  in  the  air.  "It's  the  one  in  which  the 
Princess  Patricia  gets  ready  to  die  because  she 
hears  her  sweetheart  making  love  to  some  one 
else,  and  then  she  comes  to  her  senses  and  makes 
him  marry  the  other  girl  so  they  can  live  miser- 

67 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

able  ever  after,  and  the  Princess  goes  about 
doing  good  like  Miss  Frances.  But  I'm  going 
to  marry  her  to  somebody  before  I'm  through 
-I'm—" 

"You  believe  in  marriage,  then."  Van 
Landing  smiled,  and,  stooping,  picked  up  several 
sheets  of  paper  evidently  torn  from  a  blank- 
book.  "This  must  be  the  courtship  chapter. 
It  seems  rather  sentimental." 

"It  is.  Regular  mush  slush.  It's  the  kind 
of  courting  a  man  who  isn't  much  does — that 
is,  I  guess  it's  the  kind,  but  the  Princess  under 
stands.  She's  been  fooled  once.  Tell  me" — 
Carmencita  leaned  forward  and,  arms  again 
crossed  on  Van  Landing's  knees,  looked  anx 
iously  in  his  face — "what  does  a  man  say  when 
he's  really  and  truly  courting?  I  mean  a  nice 
man.  When  the  Real  one  comes,  the  Right 
one — what  will  he  say?  I'm  just  about  there, 
and  I  don't  know  how  to  go  on." 

"I  wish  I  could  tell  you."  Van  Landing 
leaned  back  in  his  chair  and,  taking  out  his 
watch  again,  looked  at  it.  "I  shouldn't  dare 
to  try  to  write  a  novel,  consequently — " 

"I'll  try  anything  while  I'm  waiting  to  go  to 
work."  Carmencita  sat  back  dejectedly.  "Is 
a  book  a  novel  because  it  has  love  in  it?" 

68 


.      HOW    IT    HAPPENED 

"It  is  generally  supposed  to  be.  When  you 
are  older  you  may  write  your  love  scenes  with 
greater  knowledge  and — " 

"No,  I  won't.  I  don't  expect  to  have  any 
love  scenes  when  I  get  married.  I've  read  a  lot 
of  that,  and  it  don't  last.  All  I  want  my  hus 
band  to  say  is,  'Will  you  marry  me,  Carmencita?' 
and  I  will  say,  'Yes,'  and  I  hope  we'll  keep  on 
liking  each  other.  Some  don't."  Her  face 
changed,  and  she  sat  upright,  her  hands  pressed 
to  her  breast.  "  This  is  a  novel  —  to-night 
is!  We're  living  one,  and  you're  the  Prince 
and  Miss  Frances  is  the  Princess,  and  I 
found  you!  Oh,  my  goodness!  what  is 
that?" 

With  a  swift  movement  she  was  on  her  feet 
and  at  the  door.  Van  Landing,  too,  rose  quick 
ly.  Below  could  be  heard  loud  voices,  the  mov 
ing  of  furniture,  and  the  cries  of  frightened 
children,  and  cautiously  Carmencita  turned  the 
knob  and  went  into  the  hall. 

"Old  Beer-Barrel  is  drunk  again."  Tip 
toeing  to  the  banister,  she  leaned  over  it. 
"When  he  gets  like  this  he's  crazy  as  a  loon, 
and  some  day  he'll  kill  somebody.  Goodness 
gracious!  he's  coming  up  here!" 

Before  Van  Landing  could  reach  her  she  was 

6  69 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

inside  and  at  the  wash-stand.  Taking  up  the 
pitcher  filled  with  water,  she  again  ran  into  the 
hall,  and  as  the  cursing,  stumbling  man  began 
to  mount  the  stairs  she  leaned  over  the  banister 
and  poured  the  contents  of  the  pitcher  on  his 
head.  As  if  shot,  the  man  stood  still,  face  up 
turned,  hair  drenched,  hands  trembling,  then 
he  sat  down  on  the  steps. 

Giving  the  pitcher  to  Van  Landing,  she  told 
him  to  fill  it  and  pointed  to  a  faucet  in  the  hall. 
"I  don't  think  he'll  need  another;  one  is  gen 
erally  enough.  I've  seen  him  like  this  before. 
His  wife  won't  throw  water  in  his  face,  but  I 
throw."  She  leaned  farther  over  the  railing. 
"If  you'll  be  quiet  and  go  back  quick  I  won't 
put  any  more  water  on  you;  it's  awful  cold, 
but  if  you  don't — " 

Slowly,  and  as  if  dazed,  the  man  on  the  steps 
got  up,  and  as  he  disappeared  Carmencita 
nodded  to  her  visitor  to  go  back  to  her  Father, 
now  standing  by  the  table.  Closing  the  door, 
she  came  toward  him  and  pushed  him  again 
in  his  chair,  smoothing  lightly  the  snow-white 
hair  and  kissing  the  trembling  fingers,  then  at 
his  feet  she  took  her  seat. 

"I'm  so  sorry  he  waked  you.  It  was  just 
old  Beer-Barrel.  He  oughtn't  to  drink" — she 

70 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

raised  her  eyes  to  Van  Landing's — "but  a  man 
who's  got  a  wife  like  his  is  bound  to  do  some 
thing,  and  sometimes  I  wish  I  could  put  the 
water  on  her  instead  of  him."- 


CHAPTER  VIII 


OR  a  moment  Van  Landing  walked 
up  and  down  the  room,  hands  in  his 
pockets  and  heart  pounding  in  a  way 
of  which  he  was  ashamed.  Ordinarily 
the  sight  of  a  drunken  man  would  have 
awakened  little  emotion  save  disgust, 
but  the  realization  of  the  helplessness  of  the 
two  people  before  him  rilled  him  with  inward 
rage,  and  for  some  time  he  could  not  trust  him 
self  to  speak.  A  sickening  horror  of  this  hide 
ous  side  of  life  filled  him  with  strange  protest. 
Yesterday  he  had  not  known  and  had  not  cared 
that  such  things  could  be,  and  now — 

On  Carmencita's  face  was  none  of  the  alarm 
that  had  come  into  his.  Her  father,  too,  was 
getting  over  his  fright.  '  For  this  helpless  old 
man  and  fair,  frail  child,  whose  wit  and  cour 
age  were  equal  to  situations  of  which  she  had 
the  right  of  childhood  to  be  ignorant,  the  scene 
just  witnessed  had  the  familiarity  of  frequent 
repetition,  but  for  him  it  was  horribly  new,  and 

72 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

if  the  Damanarkist  of  whom  Carmencita  so 
often  spoke  should  come  in  he  would  be  glad 
to  shake  his  hand. 

A  noise  at  the  door  made  him  start.  They 
were  coming.  The  boy  and  Frances.  He  dug 
his  hands  deeper  in  his  pockets  to  hide  their 
trembling,  and  his  face  went  white. 
r  But  it  was  not  Noodles.  It  was  Mr.  Robin- 
sky,  who  had  brought  the  harp,  and,  though  he 
evidently  intended  to  sit  down  and  talk,  with 
consummate  skill  and  grace  he  was  led  into  the 
hall  by  Carmencita  and  told  good  night  with 
sweetness  and  decision.  It  was  wonderfully 
managed.  No  man  could  have  done  it,  and  in 
his  heart  Van  Landing  thanked  her;  but  before 
he  could  speak  there  was  a  loud  pounding  on 
the  door,  and  both  he  and  Carmencita  started 
nervously  toward  it. 

"It's  Noodles.  I  know  his  knock."  Car 
mencita' s  hands  clasped  tightly,  and  in  her  voice 
was  eager  trembling.  "I'm  so  excited  I  can't 
breathe  good!  It's  like  being  in  a  book.  Go 
in  the  room  over  there  quick,  Mr.  Van.  Come 
in!" 

With  inward  as  well  as  outward  rigidity  Van 
Landing  waited.  To  the  movements  of  Car- 
mencita's  hand  waving  him  away  he  paid  no 

73 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

attention.  In  thick,  heavy  throbs  his  heart  sent 
the  blood  to  his  face,  then  it  receded,  and  for 
a  moment  the  room  was  dark  and  he  saw  noth 
ing.  To  the  ' '  come  in  "  of  Carmencita  the  door 
opened,  and  he  looked  in  its  direction.  Noodles 
was  alone. 

"Where  is  she?"  Carmencita's  voice  was 
high  and  shrill  in  excitement  and  dismay.  "I 
told  you  to  wait  for  her!  You  know  I  told  you 
to  wait  for  her!" 

Cap  in  hand,  Noodles  looked  first  at  Van 
Landing  and  then  at  the  child.  "Warn't  no 
her  to  wait  for,"  he  said,  presently.  "She  ain't 
there,  and  she  didn't  go  to  the  class  to-night. 
Miss  James  went  for  her.  Some  of  her  kin- 
folks  is  in  town  staying  with  some  their  kin- 
folks,  and  she  is  spending  the  night  with  'em." 
The  now  soiled  and  crumpled  note  was  held 
toward  Carmencita.  "She  won't  be  back  till 
day  after  to-morrow,  what's  Christmas  eve, 
though  she  might  come  back  to-morrow  night, 
Fetch-It  said.  Warn't  nobody  there  but  Fetch- 
It — leastways  warn't  nobody  else  I  seen." 

Van  Landing  looked  at  Carmencita,  then 
turned  sharply  and  went  over  toward  the  win 
dow.  A  choking,  stifling  sensation  made  breath 
ing  difficult,  and,  the  tension  of  the  past  few 

74 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

hours  relaxed,  he  felt  as  one  on  the  edge  of  a 
precipice  from  which  at  any  moment  he  might 
topple  over.  It  was  too  cold  to  open  the  win 
dow,  but  he  must  have  air.  Going  to  the  couch, 
he  took  up  his  hat  and  coat,  then  came  back 
and  held  out  his  hand. 

' '  Give  him  this ' ' — he  nodded  at  Noodles, ' '  and 
tell  your  father  good  night.  And  thank  you, 
Carmencita,  thank  you  for  letting  me  come. 
To-morrow — "  The  room  was  getting  black. 
"I  will  see  you  to-morrow." 

A  moment  later  he  was  out  of  the  room  and 
down  the  steps  and  on  the  street,  and  in  the 
darkness  he  walked  as  one  who  feels  some 
thing  in  his  way  he  cannot  see;  and  then  he 
laughed,  and  the  laugh  was  hard  and  bitter, 
and  in  it  was  a  sound  that  was  not  good  to  hear. 

The  cold  air  stung  his  face,  made  breathing 
better,  and  after  "a  while  he  looked  up.  For 
many  blocks  he  had  walked  unheedingly,  but, 
hearing  a  church-bell  strike  the  hour,  he  took 
out  his  watch  and  glanced  at  it.  To  go  home 
was  impossible.  Turning  into  a  side-street,  he 
walked  rapidly  in  a  direction  that  led  he  knew 
not  whither,  and  for  a  while  let  the  stinging  sen 
sation  of  disappointment  and  rebellion  possess 
him  without  restraint.  It  was  pretty  cruel, 

75 


HOW    IT    HAPPENED 

this  sudden  shutting  of  the  door  of  hope  in 
his  face.  The  discovery  of  Frances's  presence 
in  the  city  had  brought  again  in  full  tumultu 
ous  surge  the  old  love  and  longing,  and  the 
hours  of  waiting  had  been  well-nigh  unendur 
able.  And  now  he  would  have  to  wait  until 
day  after  to-morrow.  He  would  go  to-morrow 
night  to  this  Mother  Somebody.  What  was 
her  name?  He  could  remember  nothing,  was, 
indeed,  as  stupid  as  if  he  had  been  knocked 
in  the  head.  Well,  he  had  been.  Where  did 
this  woman  live?  The  child  had  refused  to 
tell  him.  With  a  sudden  stop  he  looked  around. 
Where  was  he?  He  had  walked  miles  in  and 
out  of  streets  as  unknown  to  him  as  if  part  of 
a  city  he  had  never  been  in,  and  he  had  no  idea 
where  he  was.  A  sudden  fear  gripped  him. 
Where  did  Carmencita  live?  He  had  paid  no 
attention  to  the  streets  they  were  on  when 
she  took  him  to  the  house  she  called  home.  He 
was  full  of  other  thought,  but  her  address, 
of  course,  he  would  get  before  he  left,  and 
he  had  left  without  asking.  WTiat  a  fool  he 
was !  What  a  stupid  fool !  For  half  a  moment 
he  looked  uncertainly  up  and  down  the  street 
whose  name  he  did  not  know.  No  policeman 
was  in  sight;  no  one  was  in  sight  except  a 

76 


HOW   IT    HAPPENED 

woman  on  the  opposite  pavement,  who  was 
scurrying  along  with  something  under  her  shawl 
hugged  close  to  her  breast,  and  a  young  girl 
who  was  coming  his  way.  Turning,  he  re 
traced  his  steps.  He  did  not  know  in  which 
direction  to  go.  He  only  knew  he  must  keep 
on.  Perhaps  he  could  find  his  way  back  to  the 
place  where  Carmencita  lived. 

He  did  not  find  it.  Through  the  night  he 
walked  street  after  street,  trying  to  recall  some 
building  he  had  passed,  but  he  had  walked  as 
blind  men  walk,  and  nothing  had  been  noticed. 
To  ask  of  people  what  they  could  not  tell  was 
useless.  He  did  not  know  the  name  of  the  street 
he  wanted  to  find,  and,  moreover,  a  curious 
shrinking  kept  him  from  inquiring.  In  the 
morning  he  would  find  it,  but  he  did  not  want 
to  make  demands  upon  the  usual  sources  for 
help  until  he  had  exhausted  all  other  means  of 
redeeming  his  folly  in  not  learning  Carmencita's 
full  name  and  address  before  he  left  her.  Was 
a  man's  whole  life  to  be  changed,  to  be  made  or 
unmade,  by  whimsical  chance  or  by  stupid 
blunder?  In  the  gray  dawn  of  a  new  day  he 
reached  his  home  and  went  to  bed  for  a  few 
hours'  sleep. 

When,  later,  he  left  his  house  to  renew  his 
77 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

search  for  Carmencita  the  weather  had  changed. 
It  had  begun  to  snow,  and  tiny  particles  of  ice 
stung  his  face  as  he  walked,  and  the  people  who 
passed  shivered  as  they  hurried  by.  On  every 
street  that  offered  chance  of  being  the  one  he 
sought  he  went  up  and  down  its  length,  and  not 
until  he  felt  he  was  being  noticed  did  he  take 
into  partial  confidence  a  good-natured  policeman 
who  had  nodded  to  him  on  his  third  passing. 
The  man  was  kindly,  but  for  hay-stack  needles 
there  was  no  time  and  he  was  directed  to  head 
quarters.  To  find  a  house,  number  unknown, 
on  a  street,  name  unknown,  of  a  party,  full 
name  again  unknown,  was  too  much  of  a  puzzle 
for  busy  times  like  these.  Any  other  time  than 
Christmas —  He  was  turned  from  that  an  in 
quiry  from  a  woman  with  a  child  in  her  arms 
might  be  answered. 

"Any  other  time  than  Christmas!" 
With  a  sense  of  demoralization  it  was  dawn 
ing  on  him  that  he  might  not  find  her,  or  Car 
mencita,  in  time  for  Christmas,  and  he  must  find 
them.  A  great  hunger  for  the  day  to  be  to  him 
what  it  seemed  to  be  to  others  possessed  him 
feverishly,  and  with  eyes  that  saw  what  they  had 
never  seen  before  he  watched,  as  he  walked,  the 
faces  of  the  people  who  passed,  and  in  his  heart 

78 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

crept  childish  longing  to  buy  something  for 
somebody,  something  that  was  wanted  very 
much,  as  these  people  seemed  to  be  doing.  He 
had  made  out  the  checks  he  usually  sent  to 
certain  institutions  and  certain  parties  at  this 
season  of  the  year  for  his  head  clerk  to  mail. 
By  this  time  they  had  been  received,  but  with 
them  had  gone  no  word  of  greeting  or  good 
will;  his  card  alone  had  been  inclosed.  A  few 
orders  had  been  left  at  various  stores,  but  with 
them  went  no  Christmas  spirit.  He  wondered 
how  it  would  feel  to  buy  a  thing  that  could  make 
one's  face  look  as  Carmencita's  had  looked  when 
she  made  her  purchase  of  the  night  before.  It 
was  a  locket  she  had  bought — a  gold  locket. 

In  a  whispered  confidence  while  in  the  car 
she  had  told  him  it  was  for  her  mother's  pic 
ture.  The  picture  used  to  be  in  her  father's 
watch,  but  the  watch  had  to  be  sold  when  he 
was  sick,  after  her  mother's  death,  and  he  had 
missed  the  touch  of  the  picture  so.  She  knew, 
for  often  she  had  seen  him  holding  his  watch  in 
his  hand,  open  at  the  back,  where  the  picture 
lay,  with  his  fingers  on  it,  and  sometimes  he 
would  kiss  it  when  he  thought  she  was  out  of 
the  room.  After  the  watch  was  sold  the  pic 
ture  had  been  folded  up  in  one  of  her  mother's 

79 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

handkerchiefs,  and  her. father  kept  it  in  the 
pocket  of  his  coat;  but  once  it  had  slipped  out 
of  the  handkerchief,  and  once  through  a  hole 
in  the  pocket,  and  they  thought  it  was  lost. 
Her  father  hadn't  slept  any  that  night.  And 
now  he  could  sleep  with  the  locket  around  his 
neck.  She  would  put  it  on  a  ribbon.  Wasn't 
it  grand  ?  And  Carmencita's  hands  had  clasped 
ecstatically. 

Up  and  down  the  streets  he  went,  looking, 
looking,  looking.  The  district  in  which  he 
found  himself  was  one  of  the  poorest  in  the 
city,  but  the  shops  were  crowded  with  buyers, 
and,  though  the  goods  for  sale  were  cheap  and 
common  and  of  a  quality  that  at  other  times 
would  have  repelled,  to-day  they  interested. 
Carmencita  might  be  among  the  shoppers.  She 
had  said  she  had  a  few  things  to  get  for  some 
children — penny  things — and  she  was  possibly 
out,  notwithstanding  the  snow  which  now  was 
falling  thick  and  fast. 

Some  time  after  his  usual  lunch-hour  he  re 
membered  he  must  have  something  to  eat ;  and, 
going  into  a  dingy-looking  restaurant,  he  sat 
down  at  a  table,  the  only  one  which  had  a 
vacant  seat  at  it,  and  ordered  coffee  and 
oysters.  His  table  companion  was  a  half- 

80 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

/ 

grown  boy  with  chapped  hands  and  a  thin 
white  face;  but  his  eyes  were  clear  and  happy, 
and  the  piece  of  pie  he  was  eating  was  being 
swallowed  in  huge  hunks.  It  was  his  sole 
order,  a  piece  of  awful-looking  pie.  As  the 
coffee  and  oysters  were  brought  him  Van 
Landing  saw  the  boy  look  at  them  hungrily 
and  then  turn  his  eyes  away. 

"I  beg  your  pardon."  Van  Landing,  whose 
well-regulated  life  permitted  of  few  impulses, 
turned  to  the  boy.  "I  ordered  these  things" — 
he  pointed  to  the  steaming  food — "and  I  don't 
want  them.  I  want  something  else.  Would 
you  mind  having  them?  It's  a  pity  to  throw 
them  away." 

The  boy  hesitated,  uncertain  what  was  meant, 
then  he  laughed.  "It  sure  is,"  he  said.  "If 
you  don't  want  them  I'll  help  you  out.  I'm 
hollow  as  a  hound  what's  been  on  a  hunt. 
Good  thing  Christmas  don't  come  but  once  a 
year.  You  can  cut  out  lunch  better'n  anything 
else  for  a  save-up,  though.  That  girl  over 
there" — he  pointed  his  finger  behind  him — 
"ain't  had  nothing  but  a  glass  of  milk  for  a 
month.  She's  got  some  kiddie  brothers  and 
sisters,  and  they're  bound  to  have  Christmas, 
she  says.  Rough  day,  ain't  it?" 

81 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

Van  Landing  gave  another  order.  Had  it 
not  been  for  the  gnawing  restlessness,  the  grow 
ing  fear,  which  filled  him,  the  scene  would  have 
interested.  A  few  days  ago  he  would  have  seen 
only  the  sordid  side  of  it,  the  crudeness  and 
coarseness;  but  the  search  he  was  on  had  hu 
manized  what  hitherto  had  only  seemed  a  dis 
agreeable  and  objectionable  side  of  life,  and  the 
people  before  him  were  of  an  odd  kinship.  In 
their  faces  was  hunger.  There  were  so  many 
kinds  of  hunger  in  the  world.  He  got  up,  and 
with  a  nod  to  the  boy  paid  his  bill  and  went 
out. 

Through  the  afternoon  hours  he  walked  stead 
ily.  Dogged  determination  made  him  keep  on, 
just  as  sensitive  shrinking  prevented  his  mak 
ing  inquiries  of  others.  It  was  silly  to  ask 
what  couldn't  be  answered.  He  must  have 
been  mad  the  night  before  not  to  have  noticed 
where  he  was  going,  not  to  have  asked  Car- 
mencita  her  name. 

By  four  o'clock  the  street-lights  had  been 
turned  on,  making  of  the  dark,  dingy  tene 
ments  a  long  lane  with  high,  unbroken  walls, 
and  on  a  corner  he  stood  for  a  moment  won 
dering  which  was  the  best  way  to  go.  To  his 
left  were  shops ;  he  went  toward  them,  and  each 

82 


HOW    IT   HAPPENED 

face  of  the  children  coming  in  or  going  out  was 
scanned  intently.  Seeing  a  group  pressed  close 
to  a  window  in  which  was  displayed  an  assort 
ment  of  dolls  of  all  sorts  and  sizes,  with  pecul 
iar  clothing  of  peculiar  colors,  he  went  toward 
them,  stood  for  a  moment  by  their  side.  One 
of  the  children  was  the  size  of  Carmencita. 

"That's  mine — that  one  in  the  pink-silk 
dress" — a  dirty  little  finger  was  pointed  to  a 
huge  and  highly  decorated  doll  in  the  center 
of  the  window — "that  and  the  blue  beads,  and 
that  box  of  paints  with  the  picture  on  it,  and — " 

"You're  a  pig,  all  right.  Want  the  earth, 
don't  you?  Well,  you  can't  have  it."  And 
valiantly  a  child  with  a  shawl  on  her  head 
pushed  closer  to  the  window,  now  clouded  by 
the  steam  from  many  little  mouths.  "I  want 
that  one — the  one  in  long  clothes  with  a  cap 
on.  What  you  want,  Lizzie  Lue?  Look  out 
there  and  keep  your  elbows  where  they  be 
long" — this  to  the  jostling,  pushing  crowd  be 
hind.  "Come  on,  kid;  kick  if  you  have  to; 
only  way  you  can  manage  some  folks.  Which 
one  you  want,  Lizzie  Lue?"  And  a  tiny  scrap  of 
a  child  was  held  up  in  arms  but  little  bigger 
than  her  own. 

As  Van  Landing  listened  a  sudden  impulse 
83 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

to  take  the  children  in  and  get  for  them  the 
things  they  wanted  came  over  him;  then  he 
walked  away.  If  only  he  could  find  Carmencita 
and  let  her  do  the  buying.  Was  Christmas  like 
this  every  year?  These  children  with  no  chance 
— was  there  no  one  to  give  them  their  share 
of  childhood's  rights?  Settlement  workers, 
churches,  schools,  charity  associations — things 
of  that  sort  doubtless  saw  to  them.  It  was  not 
his  business.  But  wasn't  it  his  business  ?  Could 
it  possibly  be  his  business  to  know — and  care? 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir." 

Van  Landing  looked  up.  A  tall,  slender  man 
in  working-clothes,  a  basket  on  one  arm,  his 
wife  holding  to  the  other,  tried  to  touch  his  hat. 
"The  crowd  makes  walking  hard  without 
pushing.  I  hope  I  didn't  step  on  your  foot." 

"Didn't  touch  it."  The  man  had  on  no 
overcoat,  and  his  hands  were  red  and  chapped. 
He  was  much  too  thin  for  his  height,  and  as 
he  coughed  Van  Landing  understood.  "Shop 
ping,  I  suppose?" 

Why  he  asked  he  did  not  know,  and  it  was  the 
wife  he  asked,  the  young  wife  whose  timid 
clutch  of  her  husband's  arm  was  very  unlike 
the  manner  of  most  of  the  women  he  had 
passed.  She  looked  up. 

84 


HOW.  IT   HAPPENED 

"We  were  afraid  to  wait  until  to-morrow, 
it's  snowing  so  hard.  We  might  not  be  able 
to  get  out,  and  the  children — " 

' '  We've  got  three  kiddies  home. ' '  The  man's 
thin  face  brightened,  and  he  rubbed  his  coat 
sleeve  across  his  mouth  to  check  his  cough. 
"Santa  Claus  is  sure  enough  to  them,  and  we 
don't  want  'em  to  know  different  till  we  have 
to.  A  merry  Christmas,  sir!" 

As  they  went  on  Van  Landing  turned  and 
looked.  They  were  poor  people.  But  were 
they  quite  so  poor  as  he?  He  had  seen  many 
for  whom  he  might  have  made  Christmas 
had  he  known  in  time — might  have  saved  the 
sacrifices  that  had  to  be  made;  but  would  it 
then  have  been  Christmas?  Slowly,  very  slow 
ly,  in  the  shabby  street  and  snow-filled  air,  an 
understanding  of  things  but  dimly  glimpsed 
before  was  coming  to  him,  and  he  was  seeing 
what  for  long  had  been  unseen. 
7 


CHAPTER  IX 


HINK  hard,  Father — oh,  please  think" 
hard!  It  was  Van — Van — "  Car- 
mencita,  hands  clutched  tightly  be 
hind  her  back,  leaned  forward  on  her 
tiptoes  and  anxiously  peered  into  her 
father's  face  for  sign  of  dawning 
memory.  "If  I  hadn't  been  so  Christmas- 
crazy  I'd  have  listened  better,  but  I  wasn't 
thinking  about  his  name.  Can't  you — can't 
you  remember  the  last  part?  It  was  Van — 
Van—" 

Slowly  her  father  shook  his  head.  "I  wish 
I  could,  Carmencita.  I  don't  hear  well  of  late 
and  I  didn't  catch  his  name.  You  called  him 
Mr.  Van." 

"I  called  him  that  for  short.  I'm  a  cutting- 
down  person  even  in  names."  The  palms  of 
Carmencita's  hands  came  together  and  her 
fingers  interlocked.  " If  I'd  had  more  sense  and 
manners  I'd  have  called  his  name  right  from 
the  first,  and  we  wouldn't  have  lost  him.  I 

86 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

could  have  found  him  to-day  if  I'd  known  what 
to  look  for  in  the  telephone-book,  or  if  Miss 
Frances  had  been  at  Mother  McNeil's.  She 
might  as  well  be  lost,  too,  but  she'll  be  back 
at  seven,  and  that's  why  I  am  going  now,  so  as 
to  be  there  the  minute  she  gets  in,  to  ask  her 
what  his — " 

"She  might  not  like  your  asking,  Carmen- 
cita.  You  must  be  careful,  child.  Miss  Bar- 
bour  is  not  a  lady  one  can — " 

"Not  a  lady  one  can  what?"  Carmencita 
stopped  her  nervous  swaying,  and  the  big  blue 
eyes  looked  questioningly  at  her  father.  "Was 
there  ever  a  lady  who  didn't  want  to  find  her 
lost  lover  if  he  was  looking  for  her?  That's 
what  he  is.  And  she  wants  to  find  him,  if 
she  don't  know  it  exactly.  She's  working  it 
off  down  here  with  us  children,  but  she's  got 
something  on  her  mind.  He's  it.  We've  got 
to  find  him,  Father — got  to!" 

With  a  dexterous  movement  of  her  fingers 
Carmencita  fastened  the  buttons  of  her  'coat 
and  pulled  her  hat  down  on  her  head.  "I'm 
going  back  to  Mother  McNeil's,"  she  said, 
presently,  and  the  large  and  half -worn  rubbers 
which  she  had  tied  on  over  her  shoes  were 
looked  at  speculatively.  "The  Damanarkist 

87 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

is  going  to  take  me.  As  soon  as  Miss  Frances 
tells  me  Mr.  Van's  name  I'll  telephone  him 
to  come  quick,  but  I  won't  tell  her  that.  She 
might  go  away  again.  In  that  slushy  book  I 
read  the  girl  ought  to  have  been  shook.  She 
was  dying  dead  in  love  with  her  sweetheart  and 
treated  him  like  he  was  a  poodle-dog.  Miss 
Frances  wouldn't  do  that,  but  I  don't  know 
what  she  might  do,  and  I'm  not  going  to  tell 
her  any  more  than  I  can  help.  I  want  her  to 
think  it  just  happened.  Good-by,  and  go  to 
sleep  if  you  want  to,  but  don't  smoke,  please. 
You  might  drop  the  sparks  on  your  coat. 
Good-by." 

With  a  swift  kiss  she  was  gone  and,  meeting 
the  Damanarkist,  who  was  waiting  outside  the 
door,  they  went  down  the  three  flights  of  steps 
and  out  into  the  street.  The  wind  was  biting, 
and,  turning  up  the  collar  of  her  coat,  Car- 
mencita  put  her  hands  in  her  pockets  and  made 
effort  to  walk  rapidly  through  the  thick  snow 
into  which  her  feet  sank  with  each  step.  For 
some  minutes  conversation  was  impossible. 
Heads  ducked  to  keep  out  of  their  faces  the 
fast-falling  flakes,  they  trudged  along  in  si 
lence  until  within  a  few  doors  of  Mother 
McNeil's  house,  and  then  Carmencita  looked  up. 

88 


HOW    IT    HAPPENED 

"Do  —  do  you  ever  pray,  Mr.  Leimberg — 
pray  hard,  I  mean?" 

' '  Pray !"  The  Damanarkist  drew  in  his  breath 
and  laughed  with  smothered  scorn.  "Pray! 
Why  should  I  pray?  I  cut  out  prayer  when  I 
was  a  kid.  No,  I  don't  pray." 

"It's  a  great  comfort,  praying  is."  Carmen- 
cita's  hand  was  taken  out  of  her  pocket  and 
slipped  through  the  arm  of  her  disillusioned 
friend.  "Sometimes  you're  just  bound  to  pray. 
It's  like  breathing — you  can't  help  it.  It — it 
just  rises  up.  I  prayed  yesterday  for — for 
something,  and  it  pretty  near  happened,  but — " 

"And  you  think  your  praying  helped  to  make 
it  happen!"  Mr.  Leimberg  drew  Carmencita's 
hand  farther  through  his  arm,  and  his  lips 
twisted  in  contemptuous  pity.  "You  think 
there  is  a  magician  up — oh,  somewhere,  who 
makes  things  happen,  do  you?  Think — " 

"Yes."  Carmencita's  feet  skipped  in  spite 
of  the  clogging  snow.  "I  think  that  some 
where  there  is  Somebody  who  knows  about 
everything,  but  I  don't  think  He  means  us  to 
ask  for  anything  we  want  just  because  we  want 
it  and  don't  do  a  lick  to  get  it.  I've  been 
praying  for  months  and  months  about  my  tem 
per  and  stamping  my  foot  when  I  get  mad, 

89 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

and  if  I  remember  in  time  and  hold  down  the 
up-comings  my  prayers  are  always  answered; 
but  when  I  let  go  and  forget — "  Carmencita 
whistled  a  long,  low,  significant  note.  "I 
guess  then  I  don't  want  to  be  answered.  I 
want  to  smash  something.  But  I  didn't  pray 
yesterday  about  tempers  and  stamping.  It  was 
pretty  near  a  miracle  that  I  asked  for,  though 
I  said  I  wasn't  asking  for  miracles  or — " 

"All  people  who  pray  ask  for  miracles.  Since 
the  days  when  men  feared  floods  and  famines 
and  pestilence  and  evil  spirits  they  have  cried 
out  for  protection  and  propitiated  what  to 
them  were  gods."  The  Damanarkist  spit  upon 
the  ground  as  if  to  spew  contempt  of  pretense 
and  cupidity.  "I've  no  patence  with  it.  If 
there  is  a  God,  He  knows  the  cursed  struggle 
life  is  with  most  of  us;  and  if  there  isn't,  prayer 
is  but  a  waste  of  time." 

Carmencita  lifted  her  eyes  and  for  a  moment 
looked  in  the  dark,  thin  face,  embittered  by 
the  losing  battle  of  life,  as  if  she  had  not  heard 
aright,  then  she  laughed  softly. 

"If  I  didn't  know  you,  dear  Mr.  Damanarkist, 
I'd  think  you  really  meant  it — what  you  said. 
And  you  don't.  I  don't  guess  there's  anybody 
in  all  the  world  who  doesn't  pray  sometimes. 

90 


HOW    IT    HAPPENED 

Something  in  you  does  it  by  itself,  and  you  can't 
keep  it  back.  You  just  wait  until  you  feel  all 
lost  and  lonely  and  afraid,  or  so  glad  you  are 
ready  to  sing  out  loud,  then  you'll  do  it — 
inside,  if  you  don't  speak  out.  If  I  prayed 
harder  to  have  more  sense  and  not  talk  so  much, 
and  not  say  what  I  think  about  people,  and  not 
hate  my  ugly  clothes  so,  and  despise  the  smell 
of  onions  and  cabbage  and  soap-suds,  I  might 
get  more  answers,  but  you  can't  get  answers 
just  by  praying.  You've  got  to  work  like  the 
mischief,  and  be  a  regular  policeman  over  your 
self  and  nab  the  bad  things  the  minute  they 
poke  their  heads  out.  If  I'd  prayed  differently 
yesterday  I  wouldn't  have  been  looking  for — 
for  somebody  all  to-day,  and  be  a  jumping-jack 
to-night  for  fear  I  won't  find  him.  Did — did 
you  ever  have  a  sweetheart,  Mr.  Damanarkist?" 
Before  answer  could  be  made  Mother 
McNeil's  house  was  reached,  and  with  steps 
that  were  leaps  Carmencita  was  at  the  door, 
and  a  moment  later  inside.  Finding  that  Miss 
Frances  had  returned,  she  called  to  Mr.  Leim- 
berg  to  come  for  her  on  his  way  back  from  the 
station  library  where  he  was  to  get  his  book, 
and  breathlessly  she  ran  to  Miss  Barbour's 
door  and  knocked  violently  upon  it. 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

To  the  "come  in"  she  entered,  eyes  big  and 
shining,  and  cheeks  stung  into  color  by  the 
bitter  wind ;  and  with  a  rush  forward  the  hands 
of  her  adored  friend  were  caught  and  held  with 
a  tight  and  nervous  grip. 

"Miss  Frances!    Miss  Frances!" 

Two  arms  were  flung  around  Miss  Barbour's 
waist,  and  for  a  moment  the  curly  brown  head 
was  buried  on  her  breast  and  words  refused  to 
come;  instead  came  breathing  short  and  quick; 
then  Carmencita  looked  up. 

"What — oh,  what  is  his  name,  Miss  Frances? 
He  was  found  and  now  is  lost,  and  I  promised 
— I  promised  I'd  get  you  for  him!" 

Frances  B  arbour  lifted  the  excited  little  face 
and  kissed  it.  "What's  the  matter,  Carmen 
cita?  You  look  as  if  you'd  seen  a  ghost,  and 
you're  talking  as  if — " 

"I'm  crazy — I'm  not.  And  there  isn't  any 
time  to  lose.  He  said  he  must  find  you  before 
Christmas.  There  isn't  a  soul  to  make  Christ 
mas  for  him,  and  he  hasn't  anybody  to  buy 
things  for,  and  he's  as  lonely  as  a — a  desert 
person,  and  he  doesn't  want  any  one  but  you. 
Oh,  Miss  Frances,  what  is  his  name?" 

Frances  B  arbour  leaned  back  in  the  chair  in 
which  she  had  taken  her  seat,  and  her  face 

92 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

whitened.  "What  are  you  talking  about,  and 
who  is — " 

"I'm  talking  about — Him."  On  her  knees 
Carmencita  crouched  against  her  friend's  chair, 
and  her  long,  slender  fingers  intertwined  with 
those  which  had  suddenly  grown  nerveless. 
"I'm  talking  about  your  sweetheart,  Miss 
Frances.  I  found  him  for  you,  and  then  I  lost 
him.  I'll  tell  you  how  it  happened  after  I  know 
all  of  his  name  and —  If  you  had  seen  his  face 
when  I  told  him  I  knew  you  and  knew  where 
you  lived  you'd  hurry,  you'd — " 

"If  he  wishes  to  see  me,  why  doesn't  he — 
I  mean — "  Sudden  color  surged  into  the  face 
turned  from  the  child's  eager  eyes.  "What  are 
we  talking  about,  Carmencita?  There  is  evi 
dently  some  mistake." 

"There  is.  An  awful  one.  It's  three  years 
old.  And  we're  talking  about  the  gentleman 
Father  and  I  met  yesterday  and  lost  last  night. 
You're  his  sweetheart,  and  he  wants  you  for 
Christmas  and  for  ever  after,  and  he  may  be 
dead  by  to-morrow  if  he  doesn't  find  you.  He 
came  to  our  house,  and  I  wrote  you  a  note  to 
come,  too,  and  when  you  didn't  do  it  he  looked 
as  if  he'd  been  hit  in  the  face  and  couldn't 
breathe  good,  and  he  stumbled  down  the  steps 

93 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

like  a  blind  man,  and  we'd  forgot  to  tell  him 
our  name,  and  he  didn't  know  the  number  of 
our  house,  and — "  She  paused  for  breath  and 
brushed  back  the  curls  from  her  face.  "I 
know  he's  been  looking  all  day.  Where  does 
he  live,  Miss  Frances,  and  what  is  his  name?" 

"If  you  will  tell  me  of  whom  you  are  talking 
I  will  tell  you  whether  or  not  I  know  him. 
Until  you  do—" 

"I  told  you  I  didn't  remember  any  of  his 
name  but  the  Van  part.  Don't  you  know  the 
name  of  the  person  you  love  best  on  earth? 
It's  his  name  I  want." 

Frances  B  arbour  got  up  and  walked  over  to 
the  bureau  and  opened  its  top  drawer.  "You 
are  asking  questions  that  in  any  one  else  I 
would  not  permit,  Carmencita.  I  am  sure  you 
do  not  mean  to  be — " 

"I  don't  mean  anything  but  that  I  want  to 
know  all  of  Mr.  Van's  name,  and  if  you  don't 
tell  me  you  are  not  a  Christian!" 

With  a  change  of  expression  Carmencita 
sprang  to  her  feet  and,  hands  clasped  behind  her 
back,  she  stood  erect,  her  eyes  blazing  with 
indignation.  "If  you  don't  tell  him  where 
you  are,  don't  let  him  come,  I'll  think  it's  all 
just  make-believe  and  put  on,  your  coming  and 

94 


HOW    IT   HAPPENED 

doing  for  people  you  don't  really  and  truly 
know,  and  doing  nothing  for  those  you  do,  and 
letting  the  ones  you  love  best  be  lonely  and 
miserable  and  having  Christmas  all  by  them 
selves  when  they're  starving  hungry  for  you. 
What  is  his  name?"  Carmencita's  voice  was 
high  and  shrill,  and  her  foot  was  stamped 
vehemently.  "What  is  his  name?" 

"Stephen  Van  Landing." 

Face  to  face,  Frances  B  arbour  and  Carmen- 
cita  looked  into  each  other's  eyes,  then  with  a 
leap  Carmencita  was  out  of  the  room  and  down 
the  steps  and  at  the  telephone.  With  hands 
that  trembled  she  turned  the  pages  of  the  book 
she  was  holding  upside  down,  then  with  disgust 
at  her  stupidity  she  righted  it  and  ran  her 
finger  down  the  long  line  of  Vs.  Finding  at 
last  the  name  she  wanted,  she  called  the  num 
ber,  then  closed  her  eyes  and  prayed  fervently, 
feverishly,  and  half -aloud  the  words  came 
jerkily : 

"0  God,  please  let  him  be  home,  and  let 
him  get  down  here  quick  before  Miss  Frances 
goes  out.  She  and  Mother  McNeil  are  going 
somewhere  and  won't  be  back  until  eleven,  and 
that  would  be  too  late  for  him  to  come,  and — 
Hello!"  The  receiver  was  jammed  closer  to 
95 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

her  ear.  "Is  that  Mr.  Van  Landing's  house? 
Is  he  home?  He  —  he  —  isn't  home!"  The 
words  came  in  a  little  wail.  "Oh,  he  must  be 
home!  Are  you  sure — sure?  Where  can  I  get 
him?  Where  is  he?  You  don't  know — hasn't 
been  at  the  office  all  day  and  hasn't  telephoned? 
He's  looking — I  mean  I  guess  he's  trying  to  find 
somebody.  Who  is  this  talking?  It's — it's  a 
friend  of  his,  and  tell  him  the  minute  he  comes 
in  to  call  up  Pelham  4293  and  ask  for  Miss 
Frances  B arbour,  who  wants  to  talk  to  him. 
And  listen.  Tell  him  if  she's  out  to  come  to 
14  Custer  Street,  to  Mother  McNeil's,  and  wait 
until  she  gets  home.  Write  it  down.  Got  it? 
Yes,  that's  it.  Welcome.  Good-by." 

The  receiver  was  hung  upon  its  hook,  and  for 
a  moment  Carmencita  stared  at  the  wall ;  then 
her  face  sobered.  The  strain  and  tension  of 
the  day  gave  way,  and  the  high  hopes  of 
the  night  before  went  out  as  at  the  snuffing 
of  a  candle.  Presently  she  nodded  into 
space. 

"I  stamped  my  foot  at  Miss  Frances.  Stamp 
ed  my  foot!  And  I  got  mad,  and  was  imperti 
nent,  and  talked  like  a  gutter  girl  to  a  sure- 
enough  lady.  Talked  like — " 

Her  teeth  came  down  on  her  lips  to  stop  their 
96 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

sudden  quivering,  and  the  picture  on  the  wall 
grew  blurred  and  indistinct. 

" There  isn't  any  use  in  praying."  Two  big 
tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks  and  fell  upon  her 
hands.  ,  "I  might  as  well  give  up." 


CHAPTER  X 


OR  a  half-moment  after  Carmencita 
left  the  room  Frances  B  arbour  stood 
in  the  middle  of  the  floor  and  stared 
at  the  door,  still  open,  then  went  over 
and  closed  it.  Coming  back  to  the 
table  at  which  she  had  been  writing, 
she  sat  down  and  took  up  her  pen  and  made 
large  circles  on  the  sheet  of  paper  before  her. 
Slowly  the  color  in  her  face  cooled  and  left  it 
white. 

Carmencita  was  by  nature  cyclonic.  Her 
buoyancy  and  bubbling  spirits,  her  enthusiasms 
and  intensities,  were  well  understood,  but  how 
could  she  possibly  know  Stephen  Van  Landing? 
All  day  he  had  been  strangely  on  her  mind, 
always  he  was  in  her  heart,  but  thought  of  him 
was  forced  to  be  subconscious,  for  none  other 
was  allowed.  Of  late,  however,  crowd  it  back 
as  she  would,  a  haunting  sense  of  his  presence 
had  been  with  her,  and  under  the  busy  and  ab 
sorbed  air  with  which  she  had  gone  about  the 

98 


HOW    IT    HAPPENED 

day's  demands  there  had  been  sharp  surge  of 
unpermitted  memories  of  which  she  was  im 
patient  and  ashamed. 

Also  there  had  been  disquieting  questions, 
questions  to  which  she  had  long  refused  to 
listen,  and  in  the  crush  and  crowd  they  had 
pursued  her,  peered  at  her  in  unexpected  places, 
and  faced  her  in  the  quiet  of  her  room,  and  from 
them  she  was  making  effort  to  escape  when 
Carmencita  burst  in  upon  her.  The  latter  was 
too  excited,  too  full  of  some  new  adventure,  to 
talk  clearly  or  coherently.  Always  Carmencita 
was  adventuring,  but  what  could  she  mean  by 
demanding  to  know  the  name  of  her  sweet 
heart,  and  by  saying  she  had  found  him  and  then 
lost  him?  And  why  had  she,  Frances  Barbour, 
told  her  as  obediently  as  if  their  positions  were 
reversed  and  she  the  child  instead  of  Carmen 
cita?" 

Elbow  on  the  table  and  chin  in  the  palm  of 
her  hand,  she  tapped  the  desk-pad  with  her 
pen  and  made  small  dots  in  the  large  circles 
she  had  drawn  on  the  paper,  and  slowly  she 
wrote  a  name  upon  it. 

What  could  Stephen  Van  Landing  be  doing 
in  this  part  of  the  town?  He  was  one  of  the 
city's  successful  men,  but  he  did  not  know  his 

99 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

city.  Disagreeable  sights  and  sounds  had  by 
him  been  hitherto  avoided,  and  in  this  section 
they  were  chiefly  what  was  found.  Why  should 
he  have  come  to  it?  That  he  was  selfish  and 
absorbed  in  his  own  affairs,  that  he  was  con 
ventional  and  tradition  -  trained,  was  as  true 
to-day,  perhaps,  as  when  she  had  told  him  so 
three  years  ago,  but  had  they  taught  him  noth 
ing,  these  three  years  that  were  past?  Did  he 
still  think,  still  believe — 

With  a  restless  movement  she  turned  in  her 
chair,  and  her  hands  twisted  in  her  lap.  Was 
she  not  still  as  stubborn  as  of  old,  still  as  proud 
and  impatient  of  restraint  where  her  sense  of 
freedom  and  independence  of  action  were  in 
question,  still  as  self-willed?  And  was  it  true, 
what  Carmencita  had  said — was  she  giving 
herself  to  others  and  refusing  herself  to  the 
only  one  who  had  the  right  to  claim  her,  the 
royal  right  of  love? 

But  how  did  she  know  he  still  needed  her, 
wanted  her?  When  she  had  returned  to  her 
own  city  after  long  absence  she  had  told  of  her 
present  place  of  residence  to  but  few  of  her  old 
friends.  Her  own  sorrow,  her  own  sudden  fac 
ing  of  the  inevitable  and  unescapable,  had 
brought  her  sharply  to  a  realization  of  how  little 
100 


HOW    IT   HAPPENED 

she  was  doing  with  the  time  that  was  hers,  and 
she  had  been  honest  and  sincere  when  she  had 
come  to  Mother  McNeil's  and  asked  to  be 
shown  the  side  of  life  she  had  hitherto  known 
but  little — the  sordid,  sinful,  struggling  side 
in  which  children  especially  had  so  small  a 
chance.  In  these  years  of  absence  he  had  made 
no  sign.  Even  if  it  were  true,  what  Carmen- 
cita  had  said,  that  he — that  is,  a  man  named 
Van  Something — was  looking  for  her,  until  he 
found  her  she  could  not  tell  him  where  she  was. 

She  had  not  wished  her  friends  to  know. 
Settlements  and  society  were  as  oil  and  water, 
and  for  the  present  the  work  she  had  under 
taken  needed  all  her  time  and  thought.  If  only 
people  knew,  if  only  people  understood,  the 
things  that  she  now  knew  and  had  come  to 
understand,  the  inequalities  and  injustices  of 
life  would  no  longer  sting  and  darken  and  em 
bitter  as  they  stung  and  darkened  and  em 
bittered  now,  and  if  she  and  Stephen  could 
work  together — 

He  was  living  in  the  same  place,  his  offices 
were  in  the  same  place,  and  he  worked  relent 
lessly,  she  was  told.  Although  he  did  not  know 
she  was  in  the  city,  she  knew  much  of  him, 
knew  of  his  practical  withdrawal  from  the  old 
8  ioi 


HOW    IT   HAPPENED 

life,  knew  of  a  certain  cynicism  that  was  be 
coming  settled;  and  a  thousand  times  she  had 
blamed  herself  for  the  unhappiness  that  was 
his  as  well  as  hers.  She  loved  her  work,  would 
always  be  glad  that  she  had  lived  among  the 
people  who  were  so  singularly  like  those  other 
people  who  thought  themselves  so  different, 
but  if  he  still  needed  her,  wanted  her,  was  it 
not  her  duty — 

•  With  an  impatient  movement  of  her  hands 
she  got  up  and  went  over  to  the  window.  There 
was  no  duty  about  it.  It  was  love  that  called 
him  to  her.  She  should  not  have  let  Carmen- 
cita  go  without  finding  from  her  how  it  happened 
that  she  had  met  Stephen  Van  Landing  on 
Custer  Street.  She  must  go  to  Carmencita 
and  ask  her.  If  he  were  really  looking  for  her 
they  might  spend  Christmas  together.  The 
blood  surged  hotly  to  her  face,  and  the  beating 
of  her  heart  made  her  hands  unsteady.  If 
together — 

A  noise  behind  made  her  turn.  Hand  on 
the  door-knob,  Carmencita  was  standing  in  the 
hall,  her  head  inside  the  room.  All  glow  was 
gone,  and  hope  and  excitement  had  yielded  to 
dejection  and  despair. 

"I  just  came  to  beg  your  pardon  for — for 
102 


HOW    IT   HAPPENED 

stamping  my  foot,  and  I'm  sorry  I  said  what 
I  did."  The  big  blue  eyes  looked  down  on 
the  floor  and  one  foot  twisted  around  the  other. 
"It  isn't  any  use  to  forgive  me.  I'm  not  worth 
forgiving.  I'm  not  worth — " 

The  door  was  slammed  violently,  and  before 
Miss  B  arbour  could  reach  the  hall  Carmencita 
was  down  the  steps  and  out  into  the  street, 
where  the  Damanarkist  was  waiting. 


CHAPTER  XI 


ATE  into  the  night  Stephen  Van  Land 
ing  kept  up  his  hurried  walking. 
Again  and  again  he  had  stopped  and 
made  inquiries  of  policemen,  of  chil 
dren,  of  men  and  women,  but  no  one 
knew  that  of  which  he  asked.  A  blind 
man  who  played  the  harp,  a  child  named  Car- 
mencita,  a  boy  called  Noodles,  a  settlement 
house,  he  supposed,  over  which  Mother  Some 
body  presided — these  were  all  he  had  to  go  on. 
To  ask  concerning  Miss  Barbour  was  impos 
sible.  He  could  not  bring  himself  to  call  her 
name.  He  would  have  to  go  to  headquarters 
for  help.  To-morrow  would  be  Christmas  eve. 
He  would  not  spend  Christmas  alone — or  in  the 
usual  way. 

"Say,  mister,  don't  you  wish  you  was  a  boy 
again?    Get  out  the  way!" 

With  a  push  the  boy  swept  by  him,  pulling 
on  a  self-constructed  sleigh  a  still  smaller  boy, 
and  behind  the  two  swarmed  a  bunch  of  yell- 
104 


HOW    IT    HAPPENED 

ing  youngsters  who,  as  they  passed,  pelted  him 
with  snow.  One  of  them  stopped  to  tie  the 
string  of  his  shoe,  and,  looking  down,  Van 
Landing  saw — Noodles. 

With  a  swift  movement  he  reached  down  to 
grab  him,  but,  thinking  it  was  a  cop,  the  boy 
was  up  and  gone  with  a  flash  and  in  half  a  mo 
ment  was  out  of  sight.  As  swiftly  as  the  boy 
Van  Landing  ran  down  the  street  and  turned 
the  corner  he  had  seen  the  boy  turn.  His  heart 
was  beating  thickly,  his  breath  came  unevenly, 
and  the  snow  was  blinding,  but  there  was  no 
thought  of  stopping.  He  bumped  into  a  man 
coming  toward  him,  and  two  hats  flew  in  the 
air  and  on  the  pavement,  but  he  went  on.  The 
hat  did  not  matter,  only  Noodles  mattered,  and 
Noodles  could  no  longer  be  seen.  Down  the 
street,  around  first  one  corner  and  then  another, 
he  kept  on  in  fierce  pursuit  for  some  moments; 
then,  finding  breathing  difficult,  he  paused  and 
leaned  against  the  step  railing  of  a  high  porch, 
to  better  get  his  bearings.  Disappointment  and 
fury  were  overmastering  him.  It  was  impos 
sible  and  absurd  to  have  within  one's  grasp 
what  one  had  been  looking  for  all  day  and  part 
of  two  nights,  and  have  it  slip  away  like  that. 

"Come  on.  No  use — that — "  The  police- 
105 


HOW    IT   HAPPENED 

man's  voice  was  surly.  "If  you'll  walk  quiet 
I  won't  ring  up.  If  you  don't  you'll  get  a  free 
ride.  Come  on." 

"Come  on?"  Van  Landing  put  his  hand  to 
his  head.  His  hat  was  gone.  He  looked  down 
at  his  feet.  They  were  soaking  wet.  His  over 
coat  was  glazed  with  a  coating  of  fine  particles 
of  ice,  and  his  hands  were  trembling.  He  had 
eaten  practically  nothing  since  his  lunch  of 
Tuesday,  had  walked  many  miles,  and  slept 
but  a  few  hours  after  a  night  of  anxious  search 
ing,  and  suddenly  he  felt  faint  and  sick. 

"Come  on?"  he  repeated.     "Come  where?" 

' '  Where  you  belong. ' '  The  policeman 's  grasp 
was  steadying.  "Hurry  up.  I  can't  wait  here 
all  night." 

"Neither  can  I."  Van  Landing  took  out 
his  handkerchief  and  wiped  his  face.  "I  wish 
you'd  get  my  hat."  The  crowd  was  pressing 
closer.  He  was  losing  time  and  must  get  away. 
Besides,  he  could  not  trust  himself.  The  man's 
manner  was  insolent,  and  he  was  afraid  he  would 
kick  him.  Instead  he  slipped  some  money  in 
his  hand. 

"Mistake,  my  friend.  You'd  have  your 
trouble  for  nothing  if  you  took  me  in.  There's 
no  charge  save  running.  I  want  to  find  a  boy 
106 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

who  passed  me  just  now.  Name  is  Noodles. 
Know  him?" 

For  a  moment  the  cop  hesitated.  The  man's 
voice,  dress,  manner,  were  not  the  sort  seen  in 
this  section,  and  the  bill  slipped  in  his  hand 
had  a  yellow  tinge — still — 

"I've  dropped  my  hat.  Get  it,  will  you?" 
Van  Landing  threw  some  change  in  the  still 
gathering  crowd,  and  as  they  scampered  for  it 
he  turned  to  the  policeman,  then  caught  hold 
of  the  railing.  A  hateful  faintness  was  coming 
over  him  again.  On  the  edge  of  the  crowd  a 
girl  with  a  middle-aged  woman  had  stopped, 
and  the  girl  was  making  her  way  toward  him. 

"What  is  it,  Mr.  Cronklin?  Not  one  of  our 
boys?"  The  clear  voice  reached  him  as  if  at 
his  side.  He  steadied  himself,  stared,  and  tried 
to  speak. 

"Frances,"  he  said,  and  held  out  his  hands. 
"You've  made  me  walk  so  far,  Frances,  and 
Christmas  is — " 

In  the  snow  his  feet  slipped.  The  cop  was 
such  a  fool.  He  had  never  fainted  in  his  life. 

Some  one  was  standing  near  him.     Who  was 
it,  and  where  was  he?     This  wasn't  his  room. 
On  his  elbow,  he  looked  around.     Nothing  was 
107 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

familiar.  It  must  be  a  woman's  room;  he 
could  see  photographs  and  a  pin-cushion  on 
the  bureau,  and  flowers  were  growing  on  a 
table  near  the  window.  The  bed  he  was  in  was 
small  and  white.  His  was  big  and  brass. 
What  had  happened?  Slowly  it  came  to  him, 
and  he  started  to  get  up,  then  fell  back.  The 
surge  of  blood  receded,  and  again  there  was 
giddiness.  Had  he  lost  her?  Had  she,  too, 
slipped  out  of  his  hands  because  of  his  con 
founded  fall?  It  was  a  durned  outrage  that 
he  should  have  fallen.  Who  was  that  man 
with  his  back  to  the  bed? 

The  man  turned.  "All  right,  are  you?  That's 
good!"  His  pulse  was  felt  with  professional 
fingers,  but  in  the  doctor's  voice  was  frank  in 
terest.  "You  were  pretty  nearly  frozen,  man. 
It's  well  she  saw  you." 

"Where  is  she?"  Van  Landing  sat  up. 
"Where  are  my  clothes?  I  must  get  up." 

"I  guess  not."  The  doctor  laughed,  but  his 
tone  was  as  decisive  as  his  act.  Van  Landing 
was  pushed  back  on  the  pillow  and  the  covering 
pulled  up.  "Do  you  mean  Miss  Barbour?" 

"Yes.    Where  is  Miss  Barbour?" 

The  doctor  wrote  something  on  a  slip  of 
paper.  "Down-stairs,  waiting  to  hear  how  you 
108 


HOW    IT    HAPPENED 

are.  I'll  go  down  and  tell  her.  I'll  see  you 
in  the  morning." 

"Where  am  I?    Whose  house  is  this?" 

' '  Your  house  at  present. ' '  The  doctor  laughed 
again.  "It's  Mother  McNeil's  house,  but  all 
who  need  it  use  it,  and  you  needed  it,  all 
right.  You  struck  your  head  on  the  bottom 
step  of  the  porch  three  doors  from  here.  Had 
it  been  an  inch  nearer  the  temple —  Pretty 
bad  knock-out,  as  it  was,  but  you'll  be-all  right 
to-morrow.  If  you  wake  up  in  a  couple  of 
hours  take  another  one  of  these" — a  pill  was 
obediently  swallowed — "but  you're  to  see  no 
one  until  I  see  you  again.  No  talking." 

"Sorry,  but  I  must  see  Miss  B arbour."  In 
Van  Landing's  voice  was  sharp  fear.  "Christ 
mas  isn't  over  yet?  I  haven't  missed  it,  have 
I?  Are  you  sure  she's  in  this  house?" 

"Sure.  She's  getting  ready  for  to-morrow. 
To-morrow  will  be  the  busiest  day  in  the  year. 
It's  Christmas  eve." 

Van  Landing  slipped  down  in  the  bed  and 
his  face  went  deep  in  the  pillows.  Reaction 
was  on.  A  horrible  fear  that  he  was  going  to 
cry,  going  to  do  some  abominably  childish 
thing,  made  him  stuff  the  covering  in  his  mouth 
and  press  his  feet  hard  against  the  foot  of  the 
109 


HOW,  IT   HAPPENED 

bed.  He  would  not  be  cheated  out  of  Christ 
mas!  He  had  believed  he  hated  it,  thought 
he  wanted  to  be  dead  during  it,  and  now  if  it 
were  over  and  nothing  done —  Presently  he 
spoke. 

"Will  you  ask  Miss  Barbour  if  I  may  speak 
to  her  in  the  morning — before  she  goes  out? 
My  name  is  Van  Landing — Stephen  Van  Land 
ing.  I  was  a  friend  of  hers  once." 

"One  now."  The  doctor's  voice  was  dryly 
emphatic.  "  Lucky  she  recognized  you.  Rather 
startled  her,  finding  an  old  friend  so  unex 
pectedly."  Over  his  spectacles  his  kind,  shrewd 
eyes  looked  down  on  the  man  in  the  bed.  "I'll 
see  her.  Miss  Barbour  is  an  exceptional  wom 
an,  but  she's  a  woman,  which  means  when  she 
knows  you  are  all  right  she  may  not  have  time 
to  see  you.  At  present  she's  outside  your 
door.  That's  her  knock.  Guess  she's  got  the 
milk." 

With  breath  held,  Van  Landing  listened. 
Very  low  were  the  words  spoken,  then  the  door 
was  closed  again.  His  heart  was  calling  to  her. 
The  long  and  empty  years  in  which  he  had 
hoped  against  hope,  and  yet  could  make  no 
effort  to  find  her,  faded  as  mist  fades  before 
the  light  that  dawns  and  glows;  and  to  say 
no 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

no  word  when  she  was  near,  to  hold  hands  still 
that  longed  to  outstretch,  to  make  no  sign 
when  he  would  kneel  for  pardon  at  her  feet — 
it  was  not  to  be  endured.  He  would  not  wait; 
the  doctor  must  let  her  in! 

But  it  was  not  the  doctor  who  was  at  his 
bed.  It  was  a  short,  plump  woman  of  more 
than  middle  age,  with  twinkling  gray  eyes  and 
firm,  kind  hands  and  a  cheery  voice. 

"It's  the  milk,  my  son,"  she  said,  and  the 
steaming  glass  was  held  to  his  lips.  "When 
you've  had  it  you  will  sleep  like  a  baby.  It's 
warm,  are  you — and  the  feet  good  and  hot? 
Let  me  feel  that  water-bag?  Bless  my  soul  if 
it's  even  lukewarm,  and  your  feet  still  shivery! 
It's  no  wonder,  for  they  were  ice  itself  when 
they  brought  you  in." 

With  dexterous  fingers  the  hot-water  bag  was 
withdrawn  from  the  foot  of  the  bed  and  Mother 
McNeil  was  out  of  the  room.  Back  again,  she 
slipped  it  close  to  his  feet,  tucked  in  the  cover 
ing,  patted  the  pillows,  and,  lowering  the  light, 
turned  to  leave  the  room.  At  the  door  she 
stopped. 

"Is  there  anything  you're  needing,  my  son — 
anything  I  can  do  for  you?" 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence,  broken  only 
in 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

by  the  ticking  of  a  tiny  clock  on  the  mantel, 
then  Van  Landing  spoke. 

"Yes."  His  voice  was  boyishly  low.  "Will 
you  ask  Miss  B  arbour  if  I  may  see  her  to 
morrow  before  she  goes  out?  I  must  see  her." 

"Of  course  I  will.  And  you  can  tell  her  how 
it  happened  that  you  were  right  near  our  door 
when  you  fell,  and  you  didn't  even  know  she 
was  in  town.  Very  few  of  her  up-town  friends 
know.  There  wasn't  time  for  both  up-town 
and  down-town,  and  there  were  things  she 
wanted  to  find  out.  She  tells  me  you  are  an 
old  friend,  and  I'm  glad  you've  come  across 
each  other  again.  It  pleases  some  folks  to  be 
lieve  in  chance,  but  I  get  more  comfort  thinking 
God  has  His  own  way.  Good  night,  Mr.  Van 
Landing.  Good  dreams — good  dreams!" 

The  door  was  closed  softly,  and  under  the 
bedclothes  Van  Landing  again  buried  his  face 
in  the  pillows,  and  his  lips  twitched.  Chance 
— was  it  chance  or  was  it  God?  If  only  God 
would  give  him  chance! 


CHAPTER  XII 


E  was  too  tired,  too  utterly  relaxed 
by  warmth  and  medicine,  to  think 
clearly.  To-morrow  he  would  find 
Carmencita,  and  she  should  get  the 
things  the  children  wanted.  They 
were  very  strange,  the  places  and  peo 
ple  he  had  seen  to-day.  Of  course  he  had  known 
about  such  places  and  people,  read  about  them, 
heard  about  them,  but  seeing  for  one's  self  was 
different.  There  were  a  lot  of  bummers  among 
these  people  he  had  passed;  much  of  their 
misery  was  of  their  own  making  (he  had  made 
much  of  his),  but  the  wonder  was  they  were  no 
worse. 

Bold,  bad  faces,  cold,  pinched,  hungry  ones, 
eager,  earnest,  pathetic  and  joyous,  worn  and 
weary,  burdened  and  care-free,  they  again 
passed  before  him,  misty  and  ill-defined,  as 
though  the  snow  still  veiled  and  made  them 
hazy,  and  none  of  them  he  knew.  He  wished 
they  would  stop  passing.  He  was  very  tired. 
"3 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

They,  too,  were  tired.  Would  they  for  ever 
be  passing  before  him,  these  people,  these  little 
children,  he  had  seen  to-day?  If  they  would 
go  away  he  could  think  more  clearly,  could 
think  of  Frances.  She  was  here,  in  the  house 
with  him.  At  first  it  had  seemed  strange,  but 
it  wasn't  strange.  It  would  be  strange  if  she 
were  not  here  when  he  needed  her,  wanted  her 
so.  To-morrow  would  not  be  too  late.  One 
could  do  a  good  deal  on  Christmas  eve.  Every 
body  had  been  busy  except  himself.  He  would 
telephone  to-morrow  and  tell  Herrick  to  close 
the  office  and  give  Miss  Davis  holiday  until 
after  New- Year. 

But  she  had  nowhere  to  go.  He  had  heard  her 
tell  Herrick  so,  and  Herrick  had  nowhere  to  go, 
either.  Both  lived  in  boarding-houses,  he  sup 
posed.  He  had  never  thought  to  ask.  Her 
rick  was  a  faithful  old  plodder — never  would  be 
anything  else — but  he  couldn't  get  on  without 
him.  He  ought  to  raise  his  salary.  Why  didn't 
Herrick  ask  for  more  money  if  he  wanted  it? 
And  then  he  could  get  married.  Why  didn't 
he  get  married,  anyhow?  Once  or  twice  he  had 
seen  him  talking  to  Miss  Davis  about  some 
thing  that  evidently  wasn't  business.  She  was 
a  pretty  little  thing  and  quick  as  lightning — 
114 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

just  the  opposite  of  old  Herrick.  Wouldn't  it 
be  funny  if  they  were  in  love;  not,  of  course, 
like— 

They  had  nowhere  to  go  Christmas.  If 
Frances  would  let  them  they  might  come  here 
— no,  not  here,  but  at  his  home,  their  home. 
His  home  was  Frances's.  It  wouldn't  be  home 
for  him  if  it  weren't  for  her  also.  He  would  ask 
her.  And  Carmencita  and  her  blind  father, 
they  could  come,  too.  It  would  be  horrible  to 
have  a  Christmas  dinner  of  sardines  or  toasted 
cheese  and  crackers — or  one  in  a  boarding- 
house.  Other  people  might  think  it  queer  that 
he  should  have  accidentally  met  Carmencita, 
and  that  Carmencita  should  have  mentioned  the 
name  of  Miss  B  arbour,  and  that  he  should  have 
walked  miles  and  miles — it  must  have  been 
thousands  of  miles — trying  to  find  her,  and, 
after  all,  did  not  find  her.  She  found  him. 
But  it  wasn't  queer.  He  had  been  looking  for 
her  ever  since — for  three  years  he  had  been 
looking  for  her,  and  what  one  looks  for  long 
enough  one  always  finds.  To-morrow — to 
morrow — would — be — Christmas  eve. 

He  opened  his  eyes  slowly.     The  sun  was 
blinding,  and  he  blinked.    Mother  McNeil  and 
"5 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

the  doctor  were  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  bed, 
and  as  he  rubbed  his  eyes  they  laughed. 

"It's  a  merry  Christmas  you're  to  have,  my 
son,  after  all,  and  it's  wanting  to  be  up  and 
after  it  you  are,  if  I'm  a  judge  of  looks."  And 
Van  Landing's  hand,  holding  the  coverlid  close 
to  his  neck,  was  patted  understandingly  by 
Mother  McNeil.  "Last  night  the  doctor  was 
a  bit  worried  about  your  head — you  took  your 
time  in  coming  to — but  I  didn't  believe  it  was 
as  bad  as  he  feared,  and  it's  well  it  wasn't,  for 
it's  a  grand  day  in  which  to  be  living,  and 
you'll  need  your  head.  Is  it  coffee  or  tea,  now, 
that  you  like  best  for  breakfast?  And  an  egg 
and  a  bit  of  toast,  doctor,  I  think  will  taste  well. 
I'll  get  them."  And  without  answer  Mother 
McNeil  was  gone. 

The  doctor  sat  down,  felt  his  patient's  pulse, 
took  his  temperature,  investigated  the  cut  on 
the  forehead,  then  got  up.  "You're  all  right." 
His  tone  was  one  of  gruff  relief.  "One  inch 
nearer  your  temple,  however —  You  can  get 
up  if  you  wish.  Good  day."  And  he,  too, 
was  gone  before  Van  Landing  could  ask  a 
question  or  say  a  word  of  thanks. 

It  was  bewildering,  perplexing,  embarrassing, 
and  for  a  moment  he  hesitated.  Then  he  got 
116 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

up.  He  was  absurdly  shaky,  but  his  head  was 
clear,  and  in  his  heart  humility  that  was  new 
and  sweet.  The  day  was  great,  and  the  sun 
was  shining  as  on  yesterday  one  would  not  have 
dreamed  it  could  ever  shine  again.  Going  over 
to  the  door,  he  locked  it  and  hurriedly  began 
to  dress.  His  clothes  had  a  rough,  dry  ap 
pearance  that  made  them  hardly  recognizable, 
and  to  get  on  his  shoes,  which  evidently  had 
been  dried  near  the  furnace,  was  difficult.  In 
the  small  mirror  over  the  bureau,  as  he  tied  his 
cravat,  his  face  reflected  varying  emotions: 
disgust  at  his  soiled  collar,  relief  that  he  was 
up  again,  and  gratitude  that  made  a  certain 
cynicism,  of  late  becoming  too  well  defined, 
fade  into  quiet  purpose. 

Unlocking  the  door,  he  went  back  to  the 
window  and  looked  across  at  the  long  row  of 
houses,  as  alike  as  shriveled  peas  in  a  dry  pod, 
and  down  on  the  snow-covered  streets.  Brill 
iantly  the  sun  touched  here  and  there  a  bit 
of  cornice  below  a  dazzling  gleaming  roof,  and 
threw  rays  of  rainbow  light  on  window-pane 
and  iron  rail,  outlined  or  hidden  under  frozen 
foam;  and  the  dirt  and  ugliness  of  the  usual  day 
were  lost  in  the  white  hush  of  mystery. 

Not  for  long  would  there  be  transforming 
9  «7 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

effect  of  the  storm,  however.  Already  the  snow 
was  being  shoveled  from  door-steps  and  side 
walks,  and  the  laughter  of  the  boys  as  they 
worked,  the  scraping  of  their  shovels,  the 
rumble  of  wagon-wheels,  which  were  making 
deep  brown  ruts  in  the  middle  of  the  street, 
reached  him  with  the  muffled  sound  of  some 
thing  far  away,  and,  watching,  he  missed  no 
detail  of  what  was  going  on  below. 

"Goodness  gracious!  I've  almost  cried  my 
self  to  death !  And  she  found  you — found  you !" 

Van  Landing  turned  sharply.  The  door  was 
open,  though  he  had  not  heard  the  knock,  and 
with  a  spring  Carmencita  was  beside  him,  hold 
ing  his  hands  and  dancing  as  if  demented  with 
a  joy  no  longer  to  be  held  in  restraint. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Van,  I've  almost  died  for  fear  I 
wouldn't  find  you  in  time !  And  you're  here  at 
Mother  McNeil's,  and  all  yesterday  I  looked 
and  looked,  and  I  couldn't  remember  your  last 
name,  and  neither  could  Father.  And  Miss 
Frances  was  away  until  night,  and  I  never 
prayed  so  hard  and  looked  so  hard  in  my  life! 
Oh,  Mr.  Van,  if  you  are  a  stranger,  I  love  you, 
and  I'm  so  glad  you're  found!" 

She  stopped  for  breath,  and  Van  Landing, 
stooping,  lifted  Carmencita's  face  and  kissed  it. 

118 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

"You  are  my  dear  friend,  Carmencita."  His 
voice,  as  his  hands,  was  a  bit  shaky.  "I,  too, 
am  very  glad — and  grateful.  Will  you  ask 
her  to  come,  ask  her  to  let  me  see  her?  I  can 
not  wait  any  longer." 

"You'll  have  to."  Carmencita's  eyes  were 
big  and  blue  in  sudden  seriousness.  "The  Lit 
tle  Big  Sisters  have  their  tree  to-night,  and  she's 
got  a  million  trillion  things  to  do  to-day,  and 
she's  gone  out.  She's  awful  glad  you're  better, 
though.  I  asked  her,  and  she  said  she  was. 
And  I  asked  her  why  she  didn't  marry  you 
right  straight  away,  or  to-morrow  if  she  didn't 
have  time  to-day,  and — " 

"You  did  what,  Carmencita?" 

"That.  I  asked  her  that.  What's  the  use 
of  wasting  time?  I  told  her  you'd  like  a  wife 
for  a  Christmas  gift  very  much,  if  she  was  the 
wife.  Wouldn't  you?  Wouldn't  you  really 
and  truly  rather  have  her  than  anything  else?" 

Van  Landing  turned  and  looked  out  of  the 
window.  The  child's  eyes  and  earnest,  eager 
face  could  not  be  met  in  the  surge  of  hot  blood 
which  swept  over  him,  and  his  throat  grew 
tight.  All  his  theories  and  ideas  were  becom 
ing  but  confused  upheaval  in  the  manipula 
tions  of  fate,  or  what  you  will,  that  were  bring- 
up 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

ing  strange  things  to  pass,  and  he  no  longer 
could  think  clearly  or  feel  calmly.  He  must 
get  away  before  he  saw  Frances. 

"Wouldn't  you,  Mr.  Van?" 

In  the  voice  beside  him  was  shy  entreaty  and 
appeal,  and,  hands  clasped  behind  her,  Car- 
mencita  waited. 

:  "I  would."  Van  Landing  made  effort  to 
smile,  but  in  his  eyes  was  no  smiling.  Into 
them  had  come  sudden  purpose.  "I  shall  ask 
her  to  marry  me  to-morrow." 

Arms  extended  to  the  limit  of  their  length, 
Carmencita  whirled  round  and  round  the  room, 
then,  breathless,  stopped  and,  taking  Van  Land 
ing's  hand,  lifted  it  to  her  lips. 

"I  kiss  your  hand,  my  lord,  and  bring  you 
greetings  from  your  faithful  subjects!  I  read 
that  in  a  book.  I'll  be  the  subject.  Isn't  it 
grand  and  magnificent  and  glorious?"  She 
stopped.  "She  hasn't  any  new  clothes.  A 
lady  can't  get  married  without  new  clothes,  can 
she?  And  she  won't  have  time  to  get  any  on 
Christmas  eve.  Whether  she'll  do  it  or  not,  you'll 
have  to  make  her,  Mr.  Van,  or  you'll  lose  her 
again.  You've — got — to — just — make — her !" 

Carmencita's  long  slender  forefinger  made  a 
jab  in  Van  Landing's  direction,  and  her  head 
120 


HOW    IT   HAPPENED 

nodded  with  each  word  uttered.  But  before 
he  could  answer,  Mother  McNeil,  with  break 
fast  on  a  tray,  was  in  the  room  and  Carmencita 
was  out. 

Sitting  down  beside  him,  as  he  asked  her  to 
do,  Van  Landing  told  her  how  it  happened  he 
was  there,  told  her  who  he  was.  Miss  Barbour 
was  under  her  care.  She  had  once  been  his 
promised  wife.  He  was  trying  to  find  her  when 
he  fell,  or  fainted,  or  whatever  it  was,  that  he 
might  ask  her  again  to  marry  him.  Would  she 
help  him? 

In  puzzled  uncertainty  Mother  McNeil  had 
listened,  fine  little  folds  wrinkling  her  usually 
smooth  forehead,  and  her  keen  eyes  searching 
the  face  before  her;  then  she  got  up. 

"I  might  have  known  it  would  end  like  this. 
Well,  why  not?"  Hands  on  her  hips,  she 
smiled  in  the  flushed  face  looking  into  hers. 
Van  Landing  had  risen,  and  his  hands,  holding 
the  back  of  his  chair,  twitched  badly.  "The 
way  of  love  is  the  way  of  life.  If  she  will  marry 
you — God  bless  you,  I  will  say.  It's  women 
like  Frances  the  work  we're  in  is  needing.  But 
it's  women  like  her  that  men  need,  too.  She's 
out,  but  she  asked  me  to  wish  you  a  very  happy 
Christmas." 

121 


CHAPTER  XIII 


VERY  happy  Christmas!"  Van 
Landing  smiled.  "How  can  I  have 
it  without —  When  can  I  see  her, 
Mother  McNeil?" 

At  the  open  door  Mother  McNeil 
turned.  "She  has  some  shopping  to 
do.  Yesterday  two  more  families  were  turned 
over  to  us.  Sometimes  she  gets  lunch  at  the 
Green  Tea-pot  on  Samoset  Street.  She  will  be 
home  at  four.  The  children  come  at  eight,  and 
the  tree  is  to  be  dressed  before  they  get  here." 
A  noise  made  her  look  around.  "Carmencita, 
— you  are  out  of  breath,  child !  It's  never  you 
will  learn  to  walk,  I'm  fearing!" 

Carmencita,  who  had  run  down  the  hall  as 
one  pursued,  stopped,  pulled  up  her  stocking, 
and  made  effort  to  fasten  it  to  its  supporter. 
"Christmas  in  my  legs,"  she  said.  "Can't  ex 
pect  feet  to  walk  on  Christmas  eve.  I've  got 
to  tell  him  something,  Mother  McNeil.  Will 

122 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

you  excuse  me,  please,  if  I  tell  him  by  him 
self?" 

Coming  inside  the  room,  Carmencita  pulled 
Van  Landing  close  to  her  and  closed  the  door, 
and  for  half  a  minute  paused  for  breath. 

"It  was  Her.  It  was  Miss  Barbour  at  the 
telephone,  and  she  says  I  must  meet  her  at  the 
Green  Tea-pot  at  two  o'clock  and  have  lunch 
with  her  and  tell  her  about  the  Barlow  babies 
and  old  Miss  Parker  and  some  others  who 
don't  go  to  Charities  for  their  Christmas — and 
she  says  I  can  help  buy  the  things.  Glory! 
I'm  glad  I'm  living !"  She  stopped.  ' ' I  didn't 
tell  her  a  word  about  you,  but —  Have  you 
got  a  watch?" 

Van  Landing  looked  at  his  watch,  then  put  it 
back.  "I  have  a  watch,  but  no  hat.  I  lost 
my  hat  last  night  chasing  Noodles.  It's  nine 
o'clock.  I'm  going  to  the  Green  Tea-pot  at 
two  to  take  lunch  also.  Want  to  go  with  me?" 

"I'm  not  going  with  you.  You  are  going 
with  me."  Carmencita  made  effort  to  look 
tall.  "That's  what  I  came  to  tell  you.  And 
you  can  ask  her  there.  I  won't  listen.  I  won't 
even  look,  and — " 

Van  Landing  took  up  his  overcoat,  hesitated, 
and  then  put  it  on.  "I've  never  had  a  sure- 
123 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

enough  Christmas,  Carmencita.  Why  can't  I 
get  those  things  for  the  kiddies  you  spoke  of, 
and  save  Miss  B arbour  the  trouble?  She  has 
so  much  to  do,  it  isn't  fair  to  put  more  on  her. 
Then,  too—" 

"You  can  have  her  by  yourself  after  we  eat, 
can't  you?  Where  can  you  go?" 

"I  haven't  thought  yet.  Where  do  you  sup 
pose?  She  ought  to  rest." 

' '  Rest !"  Carmencita's  voice  was  shrilly  scorn 
ful.  "Rest — on  Christmas  eve.  Besides,  there 
isn't  a  spot  to  do  it  in.  Every  one  has  bundles 
in  it."  Hands  clasped,  her  forehead  puckered 
in  fine  folds,  then  she  looked  up.  "Is — is  it 
a  nice  house  you  live  in?  It's  all  right,  isn't 
it?" 

"It  is  considered  so.    Why?" 

"Because  what's  the  use  of  waiting  until  to 
morrow  to  get  married?  If  she'll  have  you 
you  all  could  stop  in  that  little  church  near  the 
Green  Tea-pot  and  the  man  could  marry  you, 
and  then  she  could  go  on  up  to  your  house  and 
rest  while  you  finished  your  Christmas  things, 
and  then  you  could  go  for  her  and  bring  her 
down  here  to  help  fix  the  Christmas  tree,  and 
to-morrow  you  could  have  Christmas  at  home. 
Wouldn't  it]  be  grand?"  Carmencita  was  on 
124 


HOW    IT    HAPPENED 

tiptoe,  and  again  her  arms  were  flung  in  the 
air.  Poised  as  if  for  flight,  her  eyes  were  on 
the  ceiling.  Her  voice  changed.  "The  roof 
of  this  house  leaks.  It  ought  to  be  fixed." 

Van  Landing  opened  the  door.  "Your  plan  is 
an  excellent  one,  Carmencita.  I  like  it  im 
mensely,  but  there's  a  chance  that  Miss  Bar- 
bour  may  not  agree.  Women  have  ways  of 
their  own  in  matters  of  marriage.  I  do  not 
even  know  that  she  will  marry  me  at  all." 

"Then  she's  got  mighty  little  sense,  which 
isn't  so,  for  she's  got  a  lot.  She  knows  what 
she  wants,  all  right,  and  if  she  likes  you  she 
likes  you,  and  if  she  don't,  she  don't,  and  she 
don't  make  out  she  does.  Did — did  you  fuss?" 

"We  didn't  fuss."  Van  Landing  smiled 
slightly.  "We  didn't  agree  about  certain 
things." 

"Good  gracious!  You  don't  want  to  marry 
an  agree-er,  do  you?  Mrs.  Barlow's  one. 
Everything  her  husband  thinks,  she  thinks, 
too,  and  sometimes  he  can't  stand  her  an 
other  minute.  Where  are  you  going  now?" 

"I'm  going  to  telephone  for  a  taxi-cab.   Then 

I'm  going  home  to  change  my  clothes  and  get 

a  hat,  and  then  I'm  going  to  my  office  to  look 

after  some  matters  there;   then  I'm  going  with 

125 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

you  to  do  some  shopping,  and  then  I'm  going 
to  the  Green  Tea-pot  to  meet  Miss  B  arbour. 
If  you  could  go  with  me  now  it  would  save 
time.  Can  you  go?" 

"If  I  can  tell  Father  first.  Wait  for  me,  will 
you?" 

Around  the  corner  Carmencita  flew,  and  was 
back  as  the  taxi-cab  stopped  at  Mother  McNeil's 
door.  Getting  in,  she  sat  upright  and  shut  her 
eyes.  Van  Landing  was  saying  good-by  and 
expressing  proper  appreciation  and  mentally 
making  notes  of  other  forms  of  expression  to 
be  made  later;  and  as  she  waited  her  breath 
came  in  long,  delicious  gasps  through  her  half- 
parted  lips.  Presently  she  stooped  over  and 
pinched  her  legs. 

"My  legs,"  she  said,  "same  ones.  And  my 
cheeks  and  my  hair" — the  latter  was  pulled 
with  vigor — "and  my  feet  and  my  hands — all 
me,  and  in  a  taxi-cab  going  Christmas  shopping 
and  maybe  to  a  marriage,  and  I  didn't  know 
he  was  living  last  week!  Father  says  I  mustn't 
speak  to  people  I  don't  know,  but  how  can  you 
know  them  if  you  don't  speak?  I  was  born 
lucky,  and  I'm  so  glad  I'm  living  that  if  I  was 
a  rooster  I'd  crow.  Oh,  Mr.  Van,  are  you 
ready?" 

126 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

The  next  few  hours  to  Carmencita  were  the 
coming  true  of  dreams  that  had  long  been  de 
nied,  and  from  one  thrill  to  another  she  passed 
in  a  delicious  ecstasy  which  made  pinching  of 
some  part  of  her  body  continually  necessary. 
While  Van  Landing  dressed  she  waited  in  his 
library,  wandering  in  wide-eyed  awe  and  on 
tiptoe  from  one  part  of  the  room  to  the  other, 
touching  here  and  there  with  the  tips  of  her 
fingers  a  book  or  picture  or  piece  of  furniture, 
and  presently  in  front  of  a  footstool  she  knelt 
down  and  closed  her  eyes. 

Quickly,  however,  she  opened  them  and,  with 
head  on  the  side,  looked  around  and  listened. 
This  wasn't  a  time  to  be  seen.  The  silence  as 
suring,  she  again  shut  her  eyes  very  tight  and 
the  palms  of  her  hands,  uplifted,  were  pressed 
together. 

"Please,  dear  God,  I  just  want  to  thank  you," 
she  began.  "It's  awful  sudden  and  unexpect 
ed  having  a  day  like  this,  and  I  don't  guess  to 
morrow  will  be  much,  not  a  turkey  Christmas 
or  anything  like  that,  but  to-day  is  grand.  I'd 
say  more,  but  some  one  is  coming.  Amen." 
And  with  a  scramble  she  was  on  her  feet,  the 
stool  behind  her,  as  Van  Landing  came  in  the 
room. 

127 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

The  ride  to  the  office  through  crowded  streets 
was  breathlessly  thrilling,  and  during  it  Car- 
mencita  did  not  speak.  At  the  window  of  the 
taxi  she  pressed  her  face  so  closely  that  the 
glass  had  continually  to  be  wiped  lest  the  cloud 
made  by  her  breath  prevent  her  seeing  clearly; 
and,  watching  her,  Van  Landing  smiled.  What 
an  odd,  elfish,  wistful  little  face  it  was — keen, 
alert,  intelligent,  it  reflected  every  emotion 
that  filled  her,  and  her  emotions  were  many. 
In  her  long,  ill-fitting  coat  and  straw  hat,  in 
the  worn  shoes  and  darned  gloves,  she  was  a 
study  that  puzzled  and  perplexed,  and  at 
thought  of  her  future  he  frowned.  What  be 
came  of  them — these  children  with  little  chance  ? 
Was  it  to  try  and  learn  and  help  that  Frances 
was  living  in  their  midst? 

In  his  office  Herrick  and  Miss  Davis  were 
waiting.  Work  had  been  pretty  well  cleared 
up,  and  there  was  little  to  be  done,  and  as  Van 
Landing  saw  them  the  memory  of  his  half- 
waking,  half-dreaming  thought  concerning  them 
came  to  him,  and  furtively  he  looked  from  one 
to  the  other. 

In  a  chair  near  the  window,  hands  in  her  lap 
and  feet  on  the  rounds,  Carmencita  waited,  her 
eyes  missing  no  detail  of  the  scene  about  her, 

128 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

and  at  Miss  Davis,  who  came  over  to  talk  to 
her,  she  looked  with  frank  admiration.  For  a 
moment  there  was  hesitating  uncertainty  in 
Van  Landing's  face;  then  he  turned  to  Herrick. 

"Come  into  the  next  room,  will  you,  Herrick? 
I  want  to  speak  to  you  a  minute." 

What  he  was  going  to  say  he  did  not  know. 
Herrick  was  such  a  steady  old  chap,  from  him 
radiated  such  uncomplaining  patience,  about 
him  was  such  aloofness  concerning  his  private 
affairs,  that  to  speak  to  him  on  personal  mat 
ters  was  difficult.  He  handed  him  cigars  and 
lighted  one  himself. 

"I'm  going  to  close  the  office,  Herrick,  until 
after  New- Year,"  he  began.  "I  thought  per 
haps  you  might  like  to  go  away." 

"I  would."  Herrick,  whose  cigar  was  un- 
lighted,  smiled  slightly.  "But  I  don't  think 
I'll  go." 

"Why  not?" 

Herrick  hesitated,  and  his  face  flushed.  He 
was  nearing  forty,  and  his  hair  was  already 
slightly  gray.  "There  are  several  reasons,"  he 
said,  quietly.  "Until  I  am  able  to  be  married 
I  do  not  care  to  go  away.  She  would  be  alone, 
and  Christmas  alone — " 

"Is — is  it  Miss  Davis,  Herrick?"  Van  Land- 
129 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

ing's  voice  was  strangely  shy;  then  he  held  out 
his  hand.  "You're  a  lucky  man,  Herrick.  I 
congratulate  you.  Why  didn't  you  tell  me 
before;  and  if  you  want  to  get  married,  why 
not?  What's  the  use  of  waiting?  The  trip's 
on  me.  Christmas  alone —  I  forgot  to  say 
I've  intended  for  some  time  to  raise  your  salary. 
You  deserve  it,  and  it  was  thoughtlessness  that 
made  me  put  it  off."  He  sat  down  at  his  desk 
and  took  his  check-book  out  of  a  spring-locked 
drawer  and  wrote  hastily  upon  it.  "That  may 
help  to  start  things,  Herrick,  and  if  there's  any 
other  way — " 

In  Herrick's  astonished  face  the  blood 
pumped  deep  and  red,  and  as  he  took  the  check 
Van  Landing  put  in  his  hands  his  fingers 
twitched  nervously.  It  was  beyond  belief  that 
Van  Landing  should  have  guessed — and  the 
check!  It  would  mean  the  furnishing  of  the 
little  flat  they  had  looked  at  yesterday  and 
hoped  would  stay  unrented  for  a  few  months 
longer;  meant  a  trip,  and  a  little  put  aside  to 
add  to  their  slow  savings.  Now  that  his  sister 
was  married  and  his  brother  out  of  school,  he 
could  save  more,  but  with  this —  He  tried  to 
speak,  then  turned  away  and  walked  over  to 
the  window. 

130 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

"Call  her  in,  Herrick,  and  let's  have  it  settled. 
Why  not  get  the  license  to-day  and  be  married 
to-morrow?  Oh,  Miss  Davis!"  He  opened  the 
door  and  beckoned  to  his  stenographer,  who 
was  showing  Carmencita  her  typewriter.  "  Come 
in,  will  you?  Never  mind.  We'll  come  in 
there." 


CHAPTER  XIV 


r: 


M 


ISS  DAVIS,  who  had  risen,  stood  with 
one  hand  on  her  desk;  the  other  went 
to  her  lips.  Something  was  the  mat 
ter.  What  was  it? 

"I  hope  you  won't  mind  Carmen 
cita  knowing."  Van  Landing  drew 
the  child  to  him.  ' '  She  is  an  admirable  arranger 
and  will  like  to  help,  I'm  sure.  Miss  Davis 
and  Mr.  Herrick  are  going  to  be  married  to 
morrow,  Carmencita,  and  spend  their  holiday 
— wherever  they  choose.  Why,  Miss  Davis — 
why,  you've  never  done  like  this  before!" 

Miss  Davis  was  again  in  her  chair,  and,  with 
arms  on  her  desk  and  face  buried  in  them,  her 
shoulders  were  making  little  twitchy  move 
ments.  She  was  trying  desperately  hard  to 
keep  back  something  that  mustn't  be  heard, 
and  in  a  flash  Carmencita  was  on  her  knees 
beside  her. 

"Oh,  Miss  Davis,  I  don't  know  you  much, 
but  I'm  so  glad,  and  of  course  it's  awful  excit- 
132 


HOW    IT    HAPPENED 

ing  to  get  married  without  knowing  you're 
going  to  do  it;  but  you  mustn't  cry,  Miss  Davis 
—you  mustn't,  really!" 

"I'm  not  crying."  Head  up,  the  pretty 
brown  eyes,  wet  and  shining,  looked  first  at 
Herrick  and  then  at  Van  Landing,  and  a  hand 
kerchief  wiped  two  quivering  lips.  "I'm  not 
crying,  only — only  it's  so  sudden,  and  to-mor 
row  is  Christmas,  and  a  boarding-house  Christ 
mas — "  Again  the  flushed  face  was  buried  in 
her  arms  and  tears  came  hot  and  fast — happy, 
blinding  tears. 

Moving  chairs  around  that  were  not  in  the 
way,  going  to  the  window  and  back  again, 
locking  up  what  did  not  require  locking,  put 
ting  on  his  hat  and  taking  it  off  without  know 
ing  what  he  was  doing,  Van  Landing,  neverthe 
less,  managed  in  an  incredibly  short  time  to 
accomplish  a  good  many  things  and  to  make 
practical  arrangements.  Herrick  and  Miss 
Davis  were  to  come  to  his  apartment  at  one 
o'clock  to-morrow  and  bring  the  minister. 
They  would  be  married  at  once  and  have  dinner 
immediately  after  with  him — and  with  a  friend 
or  two,  perhaps.  Carmencita  and  her  father 
would  also  be  there,  and  they  could  leave  for 
a  trip  as  soon  as  they  wished.  They  must 
10  133 


HOW   IT    HAPPENED 

hurry;  there  was  no  time  to  lose — not^  a 
minute. 

With  a  few  words  to  the  office-boy,  the  ele 
vator-boy,  the  janitor,  and  additional  remem 
brances  left  with  the  latter  for  the  charwoman, 
the  watchman,  and  several  others  not  around, 
they  were  out  in  the  street  and  Carmencita 
again  helped  in  the  cab. 

For  a  moment  there  was  dazed  silence,  then 
she  turned  to  Van  Landing.  "Would  you 
mind  sticking  this  in  me?"  she  asked,  and 
handed  him  a  bent  pin.  "Is — is  it  really  sure- 
enough  what  we've  been  doing,  or  am  I  making 
up.  Stick  hard,  please — real  hard." 

Van  Landing  laughed.  "No  need  for  the 
pin."  He  threw  it  away.  "You're  awake,  all 
right.  I've  been  asleep  a  long  time,  and  you — 
have  waked  me,  Carmencita." 

For  two  delicious  hours  the  child  led  and 
Van  Landing  followed.  In  and  out  of  stores 
they  went  with  quickness  and  decision,  and 
soon  on  the  seat  and  on  the  floor  of  the  cab 
boxes  and  bundles  of  many  shapes  and  sizes 
were  piled,  and  then  Carmencita  said  there 
should  be  nothing  else. 

"It's  awful  wickedness,  Mr.  Van,  to  spend 
so  much. ' '  Her  head  nodded  vigorously.  ' '  The 


HOW    IT   HAPPENED 

children  will  go  crazy,  and  so  will  their  mothers, 
and  they'll  pop  open  if  they  eat  some  of  all  the 
things  you've  bought  for  them,  and  we  mustn't 
get  another  one.  It's  been  grand,  but — 
You're  not  drunk,  are  you,  Mr.  Van,  and  don't 
know  what  you're  doing?" 

Her  voice  trailed  off  anxiously,  and  in  her 
eyes  came  sudden,  sober  fear. 

Again  Van  Landing  laughed.  "I  think  per 
haps  I  am  drunk,  but  not  in  the  way  you  mean, 
Carmencita.  It's  a  matter  of  spirits,  however. 
Something  has  gone  to  my  head,  or  perhaps  it's 
my  heart.  But  I  know  very  well  what  I'm 
doing.  There's  one  thing  more.  I  forgot  to 
tell  you.  I  have  a  little  friend  who  has  done 
a  good  deal  for  me.  I  want  to  get  her  a  pres 
ent  or  two — some  clothes  and  things  that  girls 
like.  Your  size,  I  think,  would  fit  her.  I'd 
like—" 

"Is  she  rich  or  poor?" 

Van  Landing  hesitated.  "She  is  rich.  She 
has  a  wonderful  imagination  and  can  see  all 
sorts  of  things  that  others  don't  see,  and  her 
friends  are — " 

"Kings  and  queens,  and  fairies  and  imps,  and 
ghosts  and  devils.  I  know.  I've  had  friends 
like  that.  Does  she  like  pink  or  blue?" 


HOW    IT   HAPPENED 

"I  think  she  likes — blue."  Again  Van  Land 
ing  hesitated.  Silks  and  satins  might  be  Car- 
mencita's  choice.  Silks  and  satins  would  not 
do.  "I  don't  mean  she  has  money,  and  I  be 
lieve  she'd  rather  have  practical  things." 

"No,  she  wouldn't!  Girls  hate  practical 
things."  The  long,  loose,  shabby  coat  was 
touched  lightly.  "This  is  practical.  Couldn't 
she  have  one  pair  of  shiny  slippers,  just  one, 
with  buckles  on  them?  Maybe  she's  as  Cin- 
derellary  as  I  am.  I'd  rather  stick  my  foot  out 
with  a  diamond-buckle  slipper  on  it  than  eat. 
I  do  when  my  princess  friends  call,  and  they 
always  say :  '  Oh,  Carmencita,  what  a  charming 
foot  you  have!'  And  that's  it.  That!"  And 
Carmencita's  foot  with  it's  coarse  and  half- 
worn  shoe  was  held  out  at  full  length.  "But 
we've  got  to  hurry,  or  we  won't  be  at  the  Green 
Tea-pot  by  two  o'clock.  Come  on." 

With  amazing  discrimination  Carmencita 
made  her  purchases,  and  only  once  or  twice  did 
she  overstep  the  limitations  of  practicality  and 
insist  upon  a  present  that  could  be  of  little  use 
to  its  recipient.  For  the  giving  of  joy  the 
selection  of  a  pair  of  shining  slippers,  a  blue 
satin  sash,  and  a  string  of  amber  beads  were 
eminently  suitable,  however,  and,  watching, 
136 


HOW    IT    HAPPENED 

Van  Landing  saw  her  eyes  gleam  over  the  pre 
cious  possessions  she  was  supposedly  buying  for 
some  one  else,  a  child  of  her  own  age,  and  he 
made  no  objection  to  the  selections  made. 

"Even  if  she  don't  wear  them  she  will  have 
them."  And  Carmencita  drew  a  long,  deep 
sigh  of  satisfaction.  "It's  so  nice  to  know  you 
have  got  something  you  can  peep  at  every  now 
and  then.  It's  like  eating  when  you're  hungry. 
Oh,  I  do  hope  she'll  like  them!  Is  it  two,  Mr. 
Van?" 

It  was  ten  minutes  to  two,  and,  putting  Car 
mencita  into  the  bundle-packed  cab,  Van  Land 
ing  ordered  the  latter  to  the  Green  Tea-pot, 
then,  getting  in,  leaned  back,  took  off  his  hat, 
and  wiped  his  forehead.  Tension  seemed  sud 
denly  to  relax  and  his  heart  for  a  moment  beat 
thickly;  then  with  a  jerk  he  sat  upright.  Car 
mencita  was  again  absorbed  in  watching  the 
crowds  upon  the  streets,  and,  when  the  cab 
stopped,  jumped  as  if  awakened  from  a  dream. 

"Are  we  here  already?  Oh,  my  goodness! 
There  she  is!" 

Miss  Barbour  was  going  in  the  doorway,  and 
as  Van  Landing  saw  the  straight,  slender  figure, 
caught  the  turn  of  the  head,  held  in  the  way 
that  was  hers  alone,  the  years  that  were  gone 


HOW    IT    HAPPENED 

slipped  out  of  memory  and  she  was  his  again. 
His —  With  a  swift  movement  he  was  out  of 
the  cab  and  on  the  street  and  about  to  follow 
her  when  Carmencita  touched  him  on  the  arm. 

"Let  me  go  first.  She  doesn't  know  you're 
coming.  We'll  get  a  table  near  the  door." 

The  crowd  separated  them,  but  through  it 
Carmencita  wriggled  her  way  quickly  and  dis 
appeared.  Waiting,  Van  Landing  saw  her  rush 
up  to  Miss  B  arbour,  then  slip  in  a  chair  at  a 
table  whose  occupants  were  leaving,  and  motion 
Frances  to  do  the  same.  As  the  tired  little 
waitress,  after  taking  off  the  soiled  cloth  and 
putting  on  a  fresh  one,  went  away  for  neces 
sary  equipment  Van  Landing  opened  the  door 
and  walked  in  and  to  the  table  and  held  out 
his  hand. 

"You  would  not  let  me  thank  you  this  morn 
ing.  May  I  thank  you  now  for — " 

"Finding  him?"  Carmencita  leaned  half 
way  over  the  table,  and  her  big  blue  eyes  looked 
anxiously  at  first  one  and  then  the  other.  "He 
was  looking  for  you,  Miss  Frances;  he'd  been 
looking  all  day  and  all  night  because  he'd  just 
heard  you  were  somewhere  down  here,  and  he's 
come  to  have  lunch  with  us,  and —  Oh,  it's 
Christmas,  Miss  Frances,  and  please  tell  him 
138 


YOU  WOULD  NOT  LET  ME  THANK  YOU  THIS  MORNING. 
YOU  NOW  FOR — " 


MAY  I  THANK 


HOW    IT    HAPPENED 

— say  something,  do  something!  He's  been 
waiting  three  years,  and  he  can't  wait  another 
minute.  Gracious!  that  smells  good!" 

The  savory  dish  that  passed  caused  a  turn 
in  Carmencita's  head,  and  Frances  Barbour, 
looking  into  the  eyes  that  were  looking  into  hers, 
held  out  her  hand.  At  sight  of  Van  Landing 
her  face  had  colored  richly,  then  the  color  had 
left  it,  leaving  it  white,  and  in  her  eyes  was 
that  he  had  never  seen  before. 

"There  is  nothing  for  which  to  thank  me." 
Her  voice  with  its  freshness  and  sweetness 
stirred  as  of  old,  but  it  was  low.  She  smiled 
slightly.  "I  am  very  glad  you  are  all  right 
this  morning.  I  did  not  know  you  knew  our 
part  of  the  town."  Her  hand  was  laid  on 
Carmencita's. 

"I  didn't  until  I  met  your  little  friend.  I 
had  never  been  in  it  before.  I  know  it  now  very 
well." 

"And  he  was  so  fighting  mad  because  he 
couldn't  see  you  when  I  sent  the  note  that  he 
went  out,  not  knowing  where  he  was  or  how  to 
get  back,  and  when  his  senses  came  on  again 
and  he  tried  to  find  out  he  couldn't  find,  and 
he  walked  'most  all  night  and  was  lost  like  peo 
ple  in  a  desert  who  go  round  and  round.  And 


HOW    IT    HAPPENED 

the  next  day  he  walked  all  day  long  and  'most 
froze,  and  he'd  passed  Mother  McNeil's  house 
a  dozen  times  and  didn't  know  it;  and  he  was 
chasing  Noodles  and  just  leaning  against  that 
railing  when  the  cop  came  and  you  came.  Oh, 
Miss  Frances,  it's  Christmas!  Won't  you 
please  make  up  and —  When  are  we  going  to 
eat?" 

Miss  Barbour's  hand  closed  over  Carmen- 
cita's  twisting  ones,  and  into  her  face  again 
sprang  color;  then  she  laughed.  "We  are  very 
hungry,  Mr.  Van  Landing.  Would  you  mind 
sitting  down  so  we  can  have  lunch?" 

An  hour  later  Carmencita  leaned  back  in  her 
chair,  hands  in  her  lap  and  eyes  closed.  Pres 
ently  one  hand  went  out.  "Don't  ask  me  any 
thing  for  a  minute,  will  you?  I've  got  to  think 
about  something.  When  you're  ready  to  go 
let  me  know." 

Through  the  meal  Carmencita's  flow  of  words 
and  flow  of  spirits  had  saved  the  silences  that 
fell,  in  spite  of  effort,  between  Van  Landing  and 
Miss  B  arbour,  and  under  the  quiet  poise  so 
characteristic  of  her  he  had  seen  her  breath 
come  unsteadily.  Could  he  make  her  care  for 
him  again?  With  eyes  no  longer  guarded  he 
looked  at  her,  leaned  forward. 
140 


HOW    IT    HAPPENED 

"From  here,"  he  said,  "where  are  you 
going?" 

"Home.  I  mean  to  Mother  McNeil's.  Car- 
mencita  says  you  and  she  have  done  my  shop 
ping."  She  smiled  slightly  and  lifted  a  glass 
of  water  to  her  lips.  "The  tree  is  to  be  dressed 
this  afternoon,  and  to-night  the  children  come." 

"And  I — when  can  I  come?" 

"You?"  She  glanced  at  Carmencita,  who 
was  now  sitting  with  her  chin  on  the  back  of 
her  chair,  arms  clasping  the  latter,  watching 
the  strange  and  fascinating  scene  of  people 
ordering  what  they  wanted  to  eat  and  eating 
as  much  of  it  as  they  wanted.  "I  don't  know. 
I  am  very  busy.  After  Christmas,  perhaps." 

"You  mean  for  me  there  is  to  be  no  Christ 
mas  ?  Am  I  to  be  for  ever  kept  outside,  Frances  ?' ' 

"Outside?"  She  looked  up  and  away.  "'I 
have  no  home.  We  are  both — outside.  To 
have  no  home  at  Christmas  is — "  Quickly  she 
got  up.  "We  must  go.  It  is  getting  late,  and 
there  is  much  to  do." 

For  one  swift  moment  she  let  his  eyes  hold 
hers,  and  in  his  burned  all  the  hunger  of  the 
years  of  loss;  then,  taking  up  her  muff,  she 
went  toward  the  door.  On  the  street  she  hesi 
tated,  then  held  out  her  hand.  "Good-by,  Mr. 
141 


HOW    IT   HAPPENED 

Van  Landing.  I  hope  you  will  have  a  happy 
Christmas." 

"Do  you?"  Van  Landing  opened  the  cab 
door.  "Get  in,  please.  I  will  come  in  another 
cab."  Stooping,  he  pushed  aside  some  boxes 
and  bundles  and  made  room  for  Carmencita. 
"I'll  be  around  at  four  to  help  dress  the  tree. 
Wait  until  I  come."  He  nodded  to  the  cab 
man;  then,  lifting  his  hat,  he  closed  the  door 
with  a  click  and,  turning,  walked  away. 

"Carmencita!  oh,  Carmencita!"  Into  the 
child's  eyes  the  beautiful  ones  of  her  friend 
looked  with  sudden  appeal,  and  the  usually 
steady  hands  held  those  of  Carmencita  with 
frightened  force.  "What  have  you  done? 
What  have  you  done?" 

"Done?"  Carmencita's  fingers  twisted  into 
those  of  her  beloved,  and  her  laugh  was  joyous. 
"Done!  Not  much  yet.  I've  just  begun. 
Did — did  you  know  you  were  to  have  a  grand 
Christmas  present,  Miss  Frances?  You  are. 
It's— it's  alive!" 


CHAPTER  XV 


HE  time  intervening  before  his  return 
to  help  with  the  tree  was  spent  by 
Van  Landing  in  a  certain  establish 
ment  where  jewels  were  kept  and  in 
telephoning  Peterkin;  and  the  orders 
to  Peterkin  were  many.  At  four 
o'clock  he  was  back  at  Mother  McNeil's. 

In  the  double  parlor  of  the  old-fashioned 
house,  once  the  home  of  wealth  and  power,  the 
tree  was  already  in  place,  and  around  it,  in 
crowded  confusion,  were  boxes  and  barrels,  and 
bundles  and  toys,  and  clothes  and  shoes,  and 
articles  of  unknown  name  and  purpose,  and  for 
a  moment  he  hesitated.  Hands  in  his  pockets, 
he  looked  first  at  Mother  McNeil  and  then  at 
a  little  lame  boy  on  the  floor  beside  an  open 
trunk,  out  of  which  he  was  taking  gaily-colored 
ornaments  and  untangling  yards  of  tinsel; 
and  then  he  looked  at  Frances,  who,  with  a  big 
apron  over  her  black  dress,  with  its  soft  white 
collar  open  at  the  throat,  was  holding  a  pile  of 
empty  stockings  in  her  hands. 
U3 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

"You  are  just  in  time,  my  son."  Mother 
McNeil  beamed  warmly  at  the  uninvited  visi 
tor.  "When  a  man  can  be  of  service,  it's  let 
him  serve,  I  say,  and  if  you  will  get  that  step- 
ladder  over  there  and  fix  this  angel  on  the  top 
of  the  tree  it  will  save  time.  Jenkins  has 
gone  for  more  tinsel  and  more  bread.  We 
didn't  intend  at  first  to  have  sandwiches  and 
chocolate — just  candy  and  nuts  and  things  like 
that — but  it's  so  cold  and  snowy  Frances 
thought  something  good  and  hot  would  taste 
well.  You  can  slice  the  bread,  Mr.  Van  Land 
ing.  Four  sandwiches  apiece  for  the  boys  and 
three  for  the  girls  are  what  we  allow."  She 
looked  around.  ' '  Hand  him  that  angel,  Frances, 
and  show  him  where  to  put  it.  I've  got  to  see 
about  the  cakes." 

Never  having  fastened  an  angel  to  the  top  of 
a  tree,  for  a  half -moment  Van  Landing  was  un 
certain  how  to  go  about  it,  fearing  exposure  of 
ignorance  and  awkwardness;  then  with  a  quick 
movement  he  was  up  the  ladder  and  looking 
down  at  the  girl  who  was  handing  him  a  huge 
paper  doll  dressed  in  the  garments  supposedly 
worn  by  the  dwellers  of  mansions  in  the  sky, 
and  as  he  took  it  he  laughed. 

"This  is  a  very  worldly-looking  angel.  She 
144 


HOW    IT    HAPPENED 

apparently  enjoys  the  blowing  of  her  trumpet. 
Stand  off,  will  you,  and  see  if  that's  right?" 
Van  Landing  fastened  the  doll  firmly  to  the 
top  of  the  tree.  "Does  she  show  well  down 
there?" 

It  was  perfectly  natural  that  he  should  be 
here  and  helping.  True,  he  had  never  heard  of 
Mother  McNeil  and  her  home  until  two  nights 
before,  never  had  dressed  a  Christmas  tree  be 
fore,  or  before  gone  where  he  was  not  asked, 
but  things  of  that  sort  no  longer  mattered. 
What  mattered  was  that  he  had  found  Frances, 
that  it  was  the  Christmas  season,  and  he  was  at 
last  learning  the  secret  of  its  hold  on  human 
hearts  and  sympathies.  There  was  no  time  to 
talk,  but  as  he  looked  he  watched,  with  eyes 
that  missed  no  movement  that  she  made,  the 
fine,  fair  face  that  to  him  was  like  no  other 
on  earth,  and,  watching,  he  wondered  if  she, 
too,  wondered  at  the  naturalness  of  it  all. 

The  years  that  had  passed  since  he  had  seen 
her  had  left  their  imprint.  She  had  known  great 
sorrow,  also  she  had  traveled  much,  and,  though 
about  her  were  the  grace  and  courage  of  old, 
there  was  something  else,  something  of  name 
less  and  compelling  appeal,  and  he  knew  that 
she,  too,  knew  the  loneliness  of  life. 


HOW    IT    HAPPENED 

Quickly  they  worked,  and  greater  and  greater 
grew  the  confusion  of  the  continually  appearing 
boxes  and  bundles,  and,  knee-deep,  Mother 
McNeil  surveyed  them,  hands  on  her  hips,  and 
once  or  twice  she  brushed  her  eyes. 

"It's  always  the  way,  my  son.  If  you  trust 
people  they  will  not  fail  you.  When  we  learn 
how  to  understand  there  will  be  less  hate  and 
more  help  in  the  world.  Jenkins,  bring  that 
barrel  of  apples  and  box  of  oranges  over  here 
and  get  a  knife  for  Mr.  Van  Landing  to  cut  the 
bread  for  the  sandwiches.  It's  time  to  make 
them.  Matilda,  call  Abraham  in.  He  can 
slice  the  ham  and  cheese.  There  must  be 
plenty.  Boys  are  hollow.  Frances,  have  you 
seen  my  scissors?" 

Out  of  what  seemed  hopeless  confusion  and 
chaotic  jumbling,  out  of  excited  coming  and 
going,  and  unanswered  questions,  and  slamming 
of  doors,  and  hurried  searchings,  order  at  last 
evolved,  and,  feeling  very  much  as  if  he'd  been 
in  a  football  match,  Van  Landing  surveyed  the 
rooms  with  a  sense  of  personal  pride  in  their 
completeness.  Around  the  tree,  placed  between 
the  two  front  windows,  were  piled  countless 
packages,  each  marked,  and  from  the  mantel 
piece  hung  a  row  of  bulging  stockings,  reinforced 
146 


HOW    IT    HAPPENED 

by  huge  mounds  of  the  same  on  the  floor, 
guarded  already  by  old  Fetch-It.  Holly  and 
cedar  gave  color  and  fragrance,  and  at  the  un 
curtained  windows  wreaths,  hung  by  crimson 
ribbons,  sent  a  welcome  to  the  waiting  crowd 
outside. 

If  he  were  not  here  he  would  be  alone,  with 
nothing  to  do.  And  Christmas  eve  alone !  He 
drew  in  his  breath  and  looked  at  Frances.  In 
her  face  was  warm,  rich  color,  and  her  eyes 
were  gay  and  bright,  but  she  was  tired.  She 
would  deny  it  if  asked.  He  did  not  have  to 
ask.  If  only  he  could  take  her  away  and  let 
her  rest! 

She  was  going  up-stairs  to  change  her  dress. 
Half-way  up  the  steps  he  called  her,  and,  leaning 
against  the  rail  of  the  banisters,  he  looked  up 
at  her. 

"When  you  come  down  I  must  see  you, 
Frances — and  alone.  I  shall  wait  here  for  you." 

"I  cannot  see  you  alone.  There  will  be  no 
time." 

' '  Then  we  must  make  time.  I  tell  you  I  must 
see  you."  Something  in  her  eyes  made  him 
hesitate.  He  must  try  another  way.  "Listen, 
Frances.  I  want  you  to  do  me  a  favor.  There's 
a  young  girl  in  my  office,  my  stenographer,  who 
147 


HOW    IT    HAPPENED 

is  to  be  married  to-morrow  to  my  head  clerk. 
She  is  from  a  little  town  very  far  from  here  and 
has  no  relatives,  no  intimate  friends  near 
enough  to  go  to.  She  lives  in  a  boarding-house, 
and  she  can't  afford  to  go  home  to  be  married. 
I  have  asked  Herrick  to  bring  her  to  my  apart 
ment  to-morrow  and  marry  her  there.  I  would 
like  her  to  have —  Carmencita  and  her  father 
are  coming,  and  I  want  you  to  come,  too.  It 
would  make  things  nicer  for  her.  Will  you 
come — you  and  Mother  McNeil?" 

Over  the  banisters  the  beautiful  eyes  looked 
down  into  Van  Landing's.  Out  of  them  had 
gone  guarding.  In  them  was  that  which  sent 
the  blood  in  hot  surge  through  his  heart.  "I 
would  love  to  come,  but  I  am  going  out  of  town 
to-morrow — going — ' ' 

"Home?"  In  Van  Landing's  voice  was 
unconcealed  dismay.  The  glow  of  Christmas, 
new  and  warm  and  sweet,  died  sharply,  leav 
ing  him  cold  and  full  of  fear.  "Are  you  going 
home?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "I  have  no  home. 
That  is  why  I  am  going  away  to-morrow. 
Mother  McNeil  will  have  her  family  here,  and 
I'd  be — I'd  be  an  outsider.  It's  everybody's 
home  day — and  when  you  haven't  a  home — " 
148 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

She  turned  and  went  a  few  steps  farther  on 
to  where  the  stairs  curved,  then  suddenly  she 
sat  down  and  crumpled  up  and  turned  her  face 
to  the  wall.  With  leaps  that  took  the  steps 
two  at  a  time  Van  Landing  was  beside  her. 

"Frances!"  he  said,  "Frances!"  and  in  his 
arms  he  held  her  close.  "You've  found  out, 
too!  Thank  God,  you've  found  out,  too!" 

Below,  a  door  opened  and  some  one  was  in 
the  hall.  Quickly  Frances  was  on  her  feet. 
"You  must  not,  must  not,  Stephen — not  here!" 

' '  Goodness  gracious !    they've  done  made  up . " 

At  the  foot  of  the  steps  Carmencita,  as  if 
paralyzed  with  delight,  stood  for  a  moment, 
then,  shutting  tight  her  eyes,  ran  back  whence 
she  came;  at  the  door  she  stopped. 

"Carmencita!  Carmencita!"  It  was  Van 
Landing's  voice.  She  turned  her  head.  "Come 
here,  Carmencita.  I  have  something  to  tell 
you." 

Eyes  awed  and  shining,  Carmencita  came 
slowly  up  the  steps.  Reaching  them,  with  a 
spring  she  threw  her  arms  around  her  dear 
friend's  neck  and  kissed  her  lips  again  and 
again  and  again,  then  held  out  her  hands  to 
the  man  beside  her.  "Is  —  is  it  to  be  to 
morrow,  Mr.  Van?" 

11  149 


HOW    IT   HAPPENED 

"It  is  to  be  to-morrow,  Carmencita." 
For  a  half -moment  there  was  quivering  si 
lence;  then  Van  Landing  spoke  again.  "There 
are  some  things  I  must  attend  to  to-night. 
Early  to-morrow  I  will  come  for  you,  Frances, 
and  in  Dr.  Pierson's  church  we  will  be  married. 
Herrick  and  Miss  Davis  are  coming  at  one 
o'clock,  and  my — wife  must  be  there  to  receive 
them.  And  you,  too,  Carmencita — you  and 
your  father.  We  are  going  to  have — "  Van 
Landing's  voice  was  unsteady.  "We  are  going 
to  have  Christmas  at  home,  Frances.  Christ 
mas  at  home!" 


CHAPTER  XVI 


IFTING  herself  on  her  elbow,  Car- 
mencita  listened.  There  was  no  sound 
save  the  ticking  of  the  little  clock  on 
the  mantel.  For  a  moment  she  wait 
ed,  then  with  a  swift  movement  of 
her  hand  threw  back  the  covering 
on  the  cot,  slipped  from  it,  and  stood,  bare 
footed,  in  her  nightgown,  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor.  Head  on  the  side,  one  hand  to  her  mouth, 
the  other  outstretched  as  if  for  silence  from 
some  one  unseen,  she  raised  herself  on  tiptoe 
and  softly,  lightly,  crossed  the  room  to  the 
door  opening  into  the  smaller  room  wherein  her 
father  slept.  Hand  on  the  knob,  she  listened, 
and,  the  soft  breathing  assuring  her  he  was 
asleep,  she  closed  the  door,  gave  a  deep 
sigh  of  satisfaction,  and  hurried  back  to  the 
cot,  close  to  which  she  sat  down,  put  on  her 
stockings,  and  tied  on  her  feet  a  pair  of  worn 
woolen  slippers,  once  the  property  of  her  pru 
dent  and  practical  friend,  Miss  Cattie  Burns. 


HOW    IT   HAPPENED 

Slipping  on  her  big  coat  over  her  gown,  she 
tiptoed  to  the  mantel,  lighted  the  candle  upon 
it,  and  looked  at  the  clock. 

"Half  past  twelve,"  she  said,  "and  Father's 
stocking  not  filled  yet!" 

As  she  got  down  from  the  chair  on  which  she 
had  stood  to  see  the  hour  her  foot  caught  in 
the  ripped  hem  of  her  coat.  She  tripped,  and 
would  have  fallen  had  she  not  steadied  herself 
against  the  table  close  to  the  stove,  and  as  she 
did  so  she  laughed  under  her  breath. 

"Really  this  kimono  is  much  too  long."  She 
looked  down  on  the  loosened  hem.  "And  I 
oughtn't  to  wear  my  best  accordion-pleated  pale- 
blue  cre"pe  de  Chine  and  shadow  lace  when  I 
am  so  busy.  But  dark-gray  things  are  so  un 
becoming,  and,  besides,  I  may  have  a  good  deal 
of  company  to-night.  The  King  of  Love  and 
the  Queen  of  Hearts  may  drop  in,  and  I  wouldn't 
have  time  to  change.  Miss  Lucrecia  Beck  says 
I'm  going  to  write  a  book  when  I'm  big,  I'm 
so  fond  of  making  up  and  of  love-things.  She 
don't  know  I've  written  one  already.  If  he 
hadn't  happened  to  be  standing  on  that  corner 
looking  so — so — I  don't  know  what,  exactly,  but 
so  something  I  couldn't  help  running  down  and 
asking  him  to  come  up — I  never  would  have 
152 


HOW    IT   HAPPENED 

had  the  day  I've  had  to-day  and  am  going  to 
have  to-morrow." 

Stooping,  she  pinned  the  hem  of  her  coat 
carefully,  then,  stretching  out  her  arms,  stood 
on  her  tiptoes  and  spun  noiselessly  round  and 
round.  "Can't  help  it!"  she  said,  as  if  to  some 
one  who  objected.  "I'm  so  glad  I'm  living, 
so  glad  I  spoke  to  him,  and  know  him,  that  I'm 
bound  to  let  it  out.  Father  says  I  mustn't 
speak  to  strangers;  but  I'd  have  to  be  dead 
not  to  talk,  and  I  didn't  think  about  his  being 
a  man.  He  looked  so  lonely." 

With  quick  movements  a  big  gingham  apron 
was  tied  over  the  bulky  coat,  and,  putting  the 
candle  on  the  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
Carmencita  began  to  move  swiftly  from  cot  to 
cupboard,  from  chairs  to  book-shelves,  and 
from  behind  and  under  each  bundles  and  boxes 
of  varying  sizes  were  brought  forth  and  arrayed 
in  rows  on  the  little  table  near  the  stove.  As 
the  pile  grew  bigger  so  did  her  eyes,  and  in  her 
cheeks,  usually  without  color,  two  spots  burned 
deep  and  red.  Presently  she  stood  off  and  sur 
veyed  her  work  and,  hands  clasped  behind,  be 
gan  to  count,  her  head  nodding  with  each  num 
ber. 

"Thirteen  big  ones  and  nineteen  little  ones," 


HOW    IT   HAPPENED 

she  said,  "and  I  don't  know  a  thing  that's  in 
one  of  them.  Gracious!  this  is  a  nice  world 
to  live  in!  I  wonder  what  makes  people  so 
good  to  me?  Mrs.  Robinsky  brought  up  those 
six  biggest  ones  to-night."  Lightly  her  finger 
was  laid  on  each.  "She  said  they  were  left 
with  her  to  be  sent  up  to-morrow  morning,  but 
there  wouldn't  be  a  thing  to  send  if  she  waited, 
as  the  children  kept  pinching  and  poking  so  to 
see  what  was  in  them.  I'd  like  to  punch  my 
self.  Noodles  gave  me  that."  Her  head  nodded 
at  a  queer-shaped  package  wrapped  in  brown 
paper  and  tied  with  green  cord.  He  paid  nine 
teen  cents  for  it.  He  told  me  so.  I  didn't  pay 
but  five  for  what  I  gave  him.  He  won't  brush 
his  teeth  or  clean  his  finger-nails,  and  I  told 
him  I  wasn't  going  to  give  him  a  thing  if  he 
didn't,  but  I  haven't  a  bit  of  hold-out-ness  at 
Christmas.  I  wonder  what's  in  that?" 

Cautiously  her  hand  was  laid  on  a  box  wrap 
ped  in  white  tissue-paper  and  tied  with  red  rib 
bons.  "I'll  hate  to  open  it  and  see,  it  looks  so 
lovely  and  Christmasy,  but  if  I  don't  see  soon 
I'll  die  from  wanting  to  know.  It  rattled  a 
little  when  I  put  it  on  the  table.  It's  Miss 
Frances's  present,  and  I  know  it  isn't  practical. 
She's  like  I  am.  She  don't  think  Christmas  is 


HOW    IT   HAPPENED 

for  plain  and  useful  things.  She  thinks  it's  for 
pleasure  and  pretty  ones.  I  wonder — "  Her 
hands  were  pressed  to  her  breast,  and  on  tip 
toes  she  leaned  quiveringly  toward  the  table. 
"I  wonder  if  it  could  be  a  new  tambourine  with 
silver  bells  on  it!  If  it  is  I'll  die  for  joy,  I'll 
be  so  glad !  I  broke  mine  to-night.  I  shook  it 
so  hard  when  I  was  dancing  after  I  got  home 
from  the  tree  that —  Good  gracious!  I've 
caught  my  foot  again !  These  diamond  buckles 
on  my  satin  slippers  are  always  catching  the 
chiffon  ruffles  on  my  petticoats.  I  oughtn't  to 
wear  my  best  things  when  I'm  busy,  but  I 
can't  stand  ugly  ones,  even  to  work  in.  Mercy! 
it's  one  o'clock,  and  the  things  for  Father's 
stocking  aren't  out  yet." 

Out  of  the  bottom  drawer  of  the  old-fashioned 
chest  at  the  end  of  the  room  a  box  was  taken  and 
laid  on  the  floor  near  the  stove,  into  which  a 
small  stick  of  wood  was  put  noiselessly,  and 
carefully  Carmencita  sat  down  beside  it.  Tak 
ing  off  the  top  of  the  box,  she  lifted  first  a  large- 
size  stocking  and  held  it  up. 

"I  wish  I  was  one  hundred  children's  mother 
at  Christmas  and  had  a  hundred  stockings  to 
fill!  I  mean,  if  I  had  things  to  fill  them  with. 
But  as  I'm  not  a  mother,  just  a  daughter,  I'm 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

thankful  glad  I've  got  a  father  to  fill  a  stocking 
for.  He's  the  only  child  I've  got.  If  he  could 
just  see  how  beautiful  and  red  this  apple  is,  and 
how  yellow  this  orange,  and  what  a  darling 
little  candy  harp  this  is,  I'd  be  thankfuler  still. 
But  he  won't  ever  see.  The  doctor  said  so — 
said  I  must  be  his  eyes." 

One  by  one  the  articles  were  taken  out  of 
the  box  and  laid  on  the  floor;  and  carefully, 
critically,  each  was  examined. 

' '  This  cravat  is  an  awful  color. ' '  Carmencita  's 
voice  made  an  effort  to  be  polite  and  failed. 
"Mr.  Robinsky  bought  it  for  father  himself 
and  asked  me  to  put  it  in  his  stocking,  but  I 
hate  to  put.  I'll  have  to  do  it,  of  course,  and 
father  won't  know  the  colors,  but  what  on 
earth  made  him  get  a  green-and-red  plaid? 
Now  listen  at  me!  I'm  doing  just  what  Miss 
Lucrecia  does  to  everything  that's  sent  her. 
The  only  pleasure  she  gets  out  of  her  presents 
is  making  fun  of  them  and  snapping  at  the 
people  who  send  them.  She's  an  awful  snap 
per.  The  Damanarkist  sent  these  cigars.  They 
smell  good.  He  don't  believe  in  Christmas, 
but  he  sent  Father  and  me  both  a  present.  I 
hope  he'll  like  the  picture-frame  I  made  for 
his  mother's  picture.  His  mother's  dead,  but 
156 


HOW    IT    HAPPENED 

he  believed  in  her.  She  was  the  only  thing  he 
did  believe  in.  A  man  who  don't  believe  in 
his  mother —  Oh,  my  precious  mother!" 

With  a  trembling  movement  the  little  locket 
was  taken  from  the  box  and  opened  and  the 
picture  in  it  kissed  passionately;  then,  without 
warning,  the  child  crumpled  up  and  hot  tears 
fell  fast  over  the  quivering  face.  "I  do  want 
you,  my  mother!  Everybody  wants  a  mother 
at  Christmas,  and  I  haven't  had  one  since  I  was 
seven.  Father  tries  to  fill  my  stocking,  but  it 
isn't  a  mother-stocking,  and  I  just  ache  and 
ache  to — to  have  one  like  you'd  fix.  I  want — " 
The  words  came  tremblingly,  and  presently  she 
sat  up. 

"Carmencita  Bell,  you  are  a  baby.  Be 
have — your — self!"  With  the  end  of  the  ging 
ham  apron  the  big  blue  eyes  were  wiped. 
"You  can't  do  much  in  this  world,  but  you  can 
keep  from  crying.  Suppose  Father  was  to 
know."  Her  back  straightened  and  her  head 
went  up.  "Father  isn't  ever  going  to  know, 
and  if  I  don't  fill  this  stocking  it  won't  be  hang 
ing  on  the  end  of  the  mantelpiece  when  he 
wakes  up.  The  locket  must  go  in  the  toe." 


CHAPTER  XVII 


N  half  an  hour  the  stocking,  big  and 
bulging,  was  hung  in  its  accustomed 
place,  the  packages  for  her  father  put 
on  a  chair  by  themselves,  and  those 
for  her  left  on  the  table,  and  as  she 
rearranged  the  latter  something  about 
largest  one  arrested  her  attention,  and, 
stopping,  she  gazed  at  it  with  eyes  puzzled 
and  uncertain. 

It  looked —  Cautiously  her  fingers  were  laid 
upon  it.  Undoubtedly  it  looked  like  the  box 
in  which  had  been  put  the  beautiful  dark-blue 
coat  she  had  bought  for  the  little  friend  of  her 
friend.  And  that  other  box  was  the  size  of  the 
one  the  two  dresses  had  been  put  in;  and  that 
was  a  hat-box,  and  that  a  shoe-box,  and  the 
sash  and  beads  and  gloves  and  ribbons,  all  the 
little  things,  had  been  put  in  a  box  that  size. 
Every  drop  of  blood  surged  hotly,  tremblingly, 
and  with  eyes  staring  and  lips  half  parted  her 
breath  came  unsteadily. 
158 


HOW    IT    HAPPENED 

In  the  confusion  of  their  coming  she  had  not 
noticed  when  Mrs.  Robinsky  had  brought  them 
up  and  put  them  under  the  cot,  with  the  in 
junction  that  they  were  not  to  be  opened  until 
the  morning,  and  for  the  first  time  their  familiar 
ity  was  dawning  on  her.  Could  it  be — could 
she  be  the  little  friend  he  had  said  was  rich? 
She  wasn't  rich.  He  didn't  mean  money-rich, 
but  she  wasn't  any  kind  of  rich;  and  she  had 
been  so  piggy. 

Hot  color  swept  over  her  face,  and  her  hands 
twitched.  She  had  told  him  again  and  again 
she  was  getting  too  much,  but  he  had  insisted 
on  her  buying  more,  and  made  her  tell  him  what 
little  girls  liked,  until  she  would  tell  nothing 
more.  And  they  had  all  been  for  her.  For  her, 
Carmencita  Bell,  who  had  never  heard  of  him 
three  days  before. 

In  the  shock  of  revelation,  the  amazement 
of  discovery,  the  little  figure  at  the  table  stood 
rigid  and  upright,  then  it  relaxed  and  with  a 
stifled  sob  Carmencita  crossed  the  room  and, 
by  the  side  of  her  cot,  twisted  herself  into  a 
little  knot  and  buried  her  face  in  her  arms  and 
her  arms  in  the  covering. 

"I  didn't  believe!     I  didn't  believe!" 

Over  and  over  the  words  came  tremblingly. 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

' '  I  prayed  and  prayed,  but  I  didn't  believe !  He 
let  it  happen,  and  I  didn't  believe!" 

For  some  moments  there  were  queer  move 
ments  of  twitching  hands  and  twisting  feet  by 
the  side  of  the  cot,  but  after  a  while  a  tear- 
stained,  awed,  and  shy-illumined  face  looked 
up  from  the  arms  in  which  it  had  been  hidden 
and  ten  slender  fingers  intertwined  around  the 
knees  of  a  hunched-up  little  body,  which  on 
the  floor  drew  itself  closer  to  the  fire. 

It  was  a  wonderful  world,  this  world  in  which 
she  lived.  Carmencita's  eyes  were  looking  tow 
ard  the  window,  through  which  she  could  see  the 
shining  stars.  Wonderful  things  happened  in 
it,  and  quite  beyond  explaining  were  these 
things,  and  there  was  no  use  trying  to  under 
stand.  Two  days  ago  she  was  just  a  little  girl 
who  lived  in  a  place  she  hated  and  was  too 
young  to  go  to  work,  and  who  had  a  blind 
father  and  no  rich  friends  or  relations,  and 
there  was  nothing  nice  that  could  happen 
just  so. 

"But  things  don't  happen  just  so.  They  hap 
pen — don't  anybody  know  how,  I  guess,"  Car- 
mencita  nodded  at  the  stars.  "I've  prayed  a 
good  many  times  before  and  nothing  hap 
pened,  and  I  don't  know  why  all  this  beauti- 
160 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

fulness  should  have  come  to  me,  and  Mrs. 
Beckwith,  who  is  good  as  gold,  though  a  poor 
manager  with  babies,  shouldn't  ever  have  any 
luck.  I  don't  understand,  but  I'm  awful 
thankful.  I  wish  I  could  let  God  know,  and 
the  Christ-child  know,  how  thankful  I  am. 
Maybe  the  way  they'd  like  me  to  tell  is  by 
doing  something  nice  for  somebody  else.  I 
know.  I'll  ask  Miss  Parker  to  supper  Christ 
mas  night.  She's  an  awful  poky  person  and 
needs  new  teeth,  but  she  says  she's  so  sick  of 
mending  pants,  she  wishes  some  days  she  was 
dead.  And  I'll  ask  the  Damanarkist.  He  hasn't 
anywhere  to  go,  and  he  hates  rich  people  so  it's 
ruined  his  stomach.  Hate  is  an  awful  miner." 

For  some  moments  longer  Carmencita  sat 
in  huddled  silence,  then  presently  she  spoke 
again. 

"I  didn't  intend  to  give  Miss  Cattie  Burns 
anything.  I've  tried  to  like  Miss  Cattie  and 
I  can't.  But  it  was  very  good  in  her  to  send  us 
a  quarter  of  a  cord  of  wood  for  a  Christmas 
present.  She  can't  help  being  practical.  I'll 
take  her  that  red  geranium  to-morrow.  I 
raised  it  from  a  slip,  and  I  hate  to  see  it  go,  but 
it's  all  I've  got  to  give.  It  will  have  to  go. 

"And  to-morrow.  I  mean  to-day — this  is 
161 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

Christmas  day !  Oh,  a  happy  Christmas,  every 
body!"  Carmencita's  arms  swung  out,  then 
circled  swiftly  back  to  her  heart.  ''For  every 
body  in  all  the  world  I'd  make  it  happy  if  I 
could!  And  I'm  going  to  a  wedding  to-day — 
a  wedding!  I  don't  wonder  you're  thrilly, 
Carmencita  Bell!" 

For  a  half -moment  breath  came  quiveringly 
from  the  parted  lips,  then  again  at  the  window 
and  the  stars  beyond  the  little  head  nodded. 

"But  I'll  never  wonder  at  things  happening 
any  more.  I'll  just  wonder  at  there  being  so 
many  nice  people  on  this  earth.  All  are  not 
nice.  The  Damanarkist  says  there  is  a  lot  of 
rot  in  them,  a  lot  of  meanness  and  cheating- 
ness,  and  nasty  people  who  don't  want  other 
people  to  do  well  or  to  get  in  their  way;  but 
there's  bound  to  be  more  niceness  than  nasti- 
ness,  or  the  world  couldn't  go  on.  It  couldn't 
without  a  lot  of  love.  It  takes  a  lot  of  love  to 
stand  life.  I  read  that  in  a  book.  Maybe 
that's  why  we  have  Christmas — why  the  Christ- 
child  came." 

Shyly  the  curly  head  was  bent  on  the  up 
raised  knees,  and  the  palms  of  two  little  hands 
were  uplifted.  "O  God,  all  I've  got  to  give  is 
love.  Help  me  never  to  forget,  and  put  a  lot 

162 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

in  my  heart  so  I'll  always  have  it  ready.  And 
I  thank  You  and  thank  You  for  letting  such 
grand  things  happen.  I  didn't  dream  there'd 
really  be  a  marriage  when  I  asked  You  please 
to  let  it  be  if  you  could  manage  it;  but  there's 
going  to  be  two,  and  I'm  going  to  both.  I've 
got  a  new  dress  to  wear,  and  slippers  with 
buckles,  and  amber  beads,  and  lots  of  other 
things.  And  most  of  all  I  thank  You  for  Mr. 
Van  and  Miss  Frances  finding  each  other. 
And  please  don't  let  them  ever  lose  each  other 
again.  They  might,  even  if  they  are  married, 
if  they  don't  take  care.  Please  help  them  to 
take  care,  for  Christ's  sake.  Amen." 

On  her  feet,  Carmencita  patted  the  stocking 
hanging  from  the  mantel,  took  off  the  big  coat, 
kicked  the  large,  loose  slippers  across  the  room, 
blew  out  the  candle,  and  stood  for  a  moment 
poised  on  the  tip  of  her  toes. 

"If  I  could" — the  words  came  breathlessly — 
"if  I  could  I'd  dance  like  the  lady  I  was  named 
for,  but  it  might  wake  Father.  I  mustn't  wake 
Father.  Good  night,  everybody — and  a  merry 
Christmas  to  all  this  nice,  big  world!" 

With  a  spring  that  carried  her  across  the 
room  Carmencita  was  on  her  cot  and  beneath 

163 


HOW   IT   HAPPENED 

its  covering,  which  she  drew  up  to  her  face. 
Under  her  breath  she  laughed  joyously,  and  her 
arms  were  hugged  to  her  heart. 

"To-morrow — I  mean  to-day — I  am  going 
to  tell  them.  They  don't  understand  yet. 
They  think  it  was  just  an  accident."  She 
shook  her  head.  "It  wasn't  an  accident. 
After  they're  married  I'm  going  to  tell  them. 
Tell  them  how  it  happened." 


THE   END 


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